33p  |)enrp  3D.  Cfjoreatu 

NEW  RIVERSIDE  EDITION. 

I.    A  WEEK  ON   THE  CONCORD  AND   MERRI- 

MACK    RIVERS. 

II.    WALDEN  ;    OR,    LIFE    IN   THE   WOODS. 
III.   THE    MAINE    WOODS. 
IV.    CAPE   COD. 

V.    EARLY    SPRING    IN    MASSACHUSETTS. 
VI.    SUMMER.     With  a  Map  of  Concord. 
VII.    AUTUMN. 
VIII.    WINTER. 
IX.    EXCURSIONS. 
X.    MISCELLANIES.     With  a  Biographical  Sketch 

by  RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

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-- 


FAMILIAR  LETTERS  OF 
HENRY   DAVID   THOREAU 


EDITED,  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  AND  NOTES 

BY 

F.  B.  SANBORN 


BOSTON   AND   NEW   YORK 
HOUGHTON,   MIFFLIN   AND   COMPANY 

piw,  Cambrib0e 

1894 


Copyright,  1894, 
BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO. 

All  rights  reserved. 


GIFT 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  77.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  Houghton  and  Company 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION 


I.    YEARS   OF   DISCIPLINE. 

SKETCH  OF  THOREAU'S  LIFE  FROM  BIRTH  TO  TWENTY 
YEARS  .................  1 

LETTERS  TO  HIS  BROTHER  JOHN  AND  SISTER  HELEN    12 

EARLY  FRIENDSHIP  AND  CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  EM 
ERSON  AND  HIS  FAMILY  ...........  39 

STATEN  ISLAND  AND  NEW  YORK  LETTERS  TO  THE 
THOREAUS  AND  EMERSONS  ..........  76 

II.    THE  GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT. 

CORRESPONDENCE  WITH  C.  LANE,  J.  E.  CABOT,  EMER 
SON,  AND  BLAKE  .............  146 

III.    FRIENDS   AND   FOLLOWERS. 
THE  SHIPWRECK  OF  MARGARET  FULLER     .....  220 

AN  ESSAY  ON  LOVE  AND  CHASTITY     .......  237 

MORAL  EPISTLES  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE  OF  WORCESTER  251 
EXCURSIONS    TO    CAPE    COD,    NEW    BEDFORD,     NEW 

HAMPSHIRE,  NEW  YORK,  AND  NEW  JERSEY  .     ,     .    302 
EXCURSIONS  TO  MONADNOC  AND  MINNESOTA    .     .     .     .421 

LAST  ILLNESS  AND  DEATH       ..........  460 

INDEX    .  .  465 


INTRODUCTION. 


THE  fortune  of  Henry  Thoreau  as  an  author 
of  books  has  been  peculiar,  and  such  as  to  indi 
cate  more  permanence  of  his  name  and  fame 
than  could  be  predicted  of  many  of  his  contem 
poraries.  In  the  years  of  his  literary  activity 
(twenty-five  in  aU),  from  1837  to  1862,  —when 
he  died,  not  quite  forty-five  years  old,  —  he  pub 
lished  but  two  volumes,  and  those  with  much 
delay  and  difficulty  in  finding  a  publisher.  But 
in  the  thirty-two  years  since  his  death,  nine  vol 
umes  have  been  published  from  his  manuscripts 
and  fugitive  pieces,  —  the  present  being  the 
tenth.  Besides  these,  two  biographies  of  Tho 
reau  have  appeared  in  America,  and  two  others 
in  England,  with  numerous  reviews  and  sketches 
of  the  man  and  his  writings,  —  enough  to  make 
several  volumes  more.  At  present,  the  sale  of 
his  books  and  the  interest  in  his  life  are  greater 
than  ever ;  and  he  seems  to  have  grown  early 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

into  an  American  classic,  like  his  Concord  neigh 
bors,  Emerson  and  Hawthorne.  Pilgrimages 
are  made  to  his  grave  and  his  daily  haunts,  as 
to  theirs,  — and  those  who  come  find  it  to  be 
true,  as  was  said  by  an  accomplished  woman 
(Miss  Elizabeth  Hoar)  soon  after  his  death, 
that  "  Concord  is  Henry's  monument,  adorned 
with  suitable  inscriptions  by  his  own  hand." 
When  Horace  wrote  of  a  noble  Roman  fam- 

ay, 

Crescit  occulto  velut  arbor  aevo 
Fama  Marcelli, 

he  pointed  in  felicitous  phrase  to  the  only  fame 
that  posterity  has  much  regarded,  —  the  slow- 
growing,  deep-rooted  laurel  of  renown.  And 
Shakespeare,  citing  the  old  English  rhyming 
saw, 

Small  herbs  have  grace, 
Great  weeds  do  grow  apace, 

signified  the  same  thing  in  a  parable, —  the  pop 
ularity  and  suddenness  of  transient  things,  con 
trasted  with  the  usefully  permanent.  There 
were  plenty  of  authors  in  Thoreau's  time  (of 
whom  Willis  may  be  taken  as  the  type)  who 
would  have  smiled  loftily  to  think  that  a  rustic 


INTRODUCTION.  vii 

from  the  Shawsheen  and  Assabet  could  compete 
with  the  traveled  scholar  or  elegant  versifier 
who  commanded  the  homage  of  drawing-rooms 
and  magazines,  for  the  prize  of  lasting  remem 
brance  ;  yet  who  now  are  forgotten,  or  live  a 
shadowy  life  in  the  alcoves  of  libraries,  piping 
forth  an  ineffective  voice,  like  the  shades  in 
Virgil's  Tartarus.  But  Thoreau  was  wiser  when 
he  wrote  at  the  end  of  his  poem,  "  Inspiration," 

Fame  cannot  tempt  the  bard 
Who  's  famous  with  his  God ; 
Nor  laurel  him  reward 
Who  has  his  Maker's  nod. 

He  strove  but  little  for  glory,  either  immediate 
or  posthumous,  well  knowing  that  it  is  the  inevi 
table  and  unpursued  result  of  what  men  do  or 
say,— 

Our  fatal  shadow  that  walks  by  us  still. 

The  Letters  of  Thoreau,  though  not  less  re 
markable  in  some  aspects  than  what  he  wrote 
carefully  for  publication,  have  thus  far  scarcely 
had  justice  done  them.  The  selection  made  for 
a  small  volume  in  1865  was  designedly  done  to 
exhibit  one  phase  of  his  character,  —  the  most 
striking,  if  you  will,  but  not  the  most  native 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

or  attractive.  "  In  his  own  home,"  says  Ellery 
Channing,  who  knew  him  more  inwardly  than 
any  other,  "  he  was  one  of  those  characters  who 
may  be  called  '  household  treasures  ; '  always  on 
the  spot,  with  skillful  eye  and  hand,  to  raise  the 
best  melons  in  the  garden,  plant  the  orchard 
with  choicest  trees,  or  act  as  extempore  me 
chanic  ;  fond  of  the  pets,  his  sister's  flowers,  or 
sacred  Tabby ;  kittens  were  his  favorites,  —  he 
would  play  with  them  by  the  half-hour.  No 
whim  or  coldness,  no  absorption  of  his  time  by 
public  or  private  business,  deprived  those  to 
whom  he  belonged  of  his  kindness  and  affec 
tion.  He  did  the  duties  that  lay  nearest,  and 
satisfied  those  in  his  immediate  circle  ;  and 
whatever  the  impressions  from  the  theoretical 
part  of  his  writings,  when  the  matter  is  probed 
to  the  bottom,  good  sense  and  good  feeling  will 
be  detected  in  it."  This  is  preeminently  true ; 
and  the  affectionate  conviction  of  this  made  his 
sister  Sophia  dissatisfied  with  Emerson's  rule  of 
selection  among  the  letters.  This  she  confided 
to  me,  and  this  determined  me,  should  occasion 
offer,  to  give  the  world  some  day  a  fuller  and 
more  familiar  view  of  our  friend. 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

For  this  purpose  I  have  chosen  many  letters 
and  mere  notes,  illustrating  his  domestic  and 
gossipy  moods,  —  for  that  element  was  in  his 
mixed  nature,  inherited  from  the  lively  maternal 
side,  —  and  even  the  colloquial  vulgarity  (using 
the  word  in  its  strict  sense  of  "popular  speech") 
that  he  sometimes  allowed  himself.  In  his  last 
years  he  revolted  a  little  at  this  turn  of  his 
thoughts,  and,  as  Channing  relates,  "  rubbed  out 
the  more  humorous  parts  of  his  essays,  origi 
nally  a  relief  to  their  sterner  features,  saying,  '  I 
cannot  bear  the  levity  I  find ; '  "  to  which  Chan 
ning  replied  that  he  ought  to  spare  it,  even  to 
the  puns,  in  which  he  abounded  almost  as  much 
as  Shakespeare.  His  friend  was  right,  —  the 
obvious  incongruity  was  as  natural  to  Thoreau 
as  the  grace  and  French  elegance  of  his  best 
sentences.  Thus  I  have  not  rejected  the  com 
mon  and  trivial  in  these  letters ;  being  well  as 
sured  that  what  the  increasing  number  of  Tho 
reau' s  readers  desire  is  to  see  this  piquant  original 
just  as  he  was,  —  not  arrayed  in  the  paradoxical 
cloak  of  the  Stoic  sage,  nor  sitting  complacent 
in  the  cynic  earthenware  cave  of  Diogenes,  and 
bidding  Alexander  stand  out  of  his  sunshine. 


x  INTRODUCTION. 

He  did  those  acts  also ;  but  they  were  not  the 
whole  man.  He  was  far  more  poet  than  cynic 
or  stoic ;  he  had  the  proud  humility  of  those 
sects,  but  still  more  largely  that  unconscious 
pride  which  comes  to  the  poet  when  he  sees  that 
his  pursuits  are  those  of  the  few  and  not  of  the 
multitude.  This  perception  came  early  to  Tho- 
reau,  and  was  expressed  in  some  unpublished 
verses  dating  from  his  long,  solitary  rambles,  by 
night  and  day,  on  the  seashore  at  Staten  Island, 
where  he  first  learned  the  sombre  magnificence 
of  Ocean.  He  feigns  himself  the  son  of  what 
might  well  be  one  of  Homer's  fishermen,  or  the 
shipwrecked  seaman  of  Lucretius,  — 

Saevis  projectus  ab  undis 
Cui  tantum  in  vita  restet  transire  malorum, 

and  then  goes  on  thus  with  his  parable  :  — 

Within  a  humble  cot  that  looks  to  sea 
Daily  I  breathe  this  curious  warm  life, 

Beneath  a  friendly  haven's  sheltering  lea 
My  noiseless  day  with  mystery  still  is  rife. 

'T  is  here,  they  say,  my  simple  life  began,  — 

And  easy  credence  to  the  tale  I  lend, 
For  well  I  know  't  is  here  I  am  a  man,  — 

But  who  will  simply  tell  me  of  the  end  ? 


INTRODUCTION.  xi 

These  eyes,  fresh-opened,  spied  the  far-off  Sea, 

That  like  a  silent  godfather  did  stand, 
Nor  uttered  one  explaining  word  to  me, 

While  introducing  straight  godmother  Land. 

And  yonder  still  stretches  that  silent  Main, 
With  many  glancing  ships  besprinkled  o'er : 

And  earnest  still  I  gaze  and  gaze  again 

Upon  the  selfsame  waves  and  friendly  shore. 

Infinite  work  my  hands  find  there  to  do, 

Gathering  the  relicts  which  the  waves  upcast : 

Each  storm  doth  scour  the  sea  for  something  new,  — 
And  every  time  the  strangest  is  the  last. 

My  neighbors  sometimes  come  with  lumbering  carts, 
As  if  they  wished  my  pleasant  toil  to  share  ; 

But  straight  they  go  again  to  distant  marts,  — 
For  only  weeds  and  ballast  are  their  care. 

"  Only  weeds  and  ballast  ? "  that  is  exactly 
what  Thoreau's  neighbors  would  have  said  he 
was  gathering,  for  the  most  of  his  days ;  yet  now 
he  is  seen  to  have  collected  something  more  du 
rable  and  precious  than  they  with  their  imple 
ments  and  market-carts.  If  they  viewed  him 
with  a  kind  of  scorn  and  pity,  it  must  be  said 
that  he  returned  the  affront ;  only  time  seems 
to  have  sided  with  the  poet  in  the  controversy 
that  he  maintained  against  his  busy  age. 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

Superiority,  —  moral  elevation,  without  peev 
ishness  or  condescension,  —  this  was  Thoreau's 
distinguishing  quality.  He  softened  it  with  hu 
mor,  and  sometimes  sharpened  it  with  indigna 
tion  ;  but  he  directed  his  satire  and  his  censure 
as  often  against  himself  as  against  mankind ; 
men  he  truly  loved,  —  if  they  would  not  obstruct 
his  humble  and  strictly-chosen  path.  The  let 
ters  here  printed  show  this,  if  I  mistake  not,  — 
and  the  many  other  epistles  of  his,  still  uncol- 
lected,  would  hardly  vary  the  picture  he  has 
sketched  of  himself,  though  they  would  add  new 
facts.  Those  most  to  be  sought  for  are  his  re 
plies  to  the  generous  letters  of  his  one  English 
correspondent. 

The  profile-portrait  engraved  for  this  volume 
is  less  known  than  it  should  be,  —  for  it  alone 
of  the  four  likenesses  extant  shows  the  aquiline 
features  as  his  comrades  of  the  wood  and  moun 
tain  saw  them,  —  not  weakened  by  any  effort  to 
bring  him  to  the  standard  of  other  men  in  garb 
or  expression.  The  artist,  Mr.  Walton  Ricket- 
son,  knew  and  admired  him. 

F.  B.  S. 

CONCORD,  MASS.,  March  1,  1894. 


FAMILIAR  LETTERS  OF  THOREAU. 


I.  YEARS  OF  DISCIPLINE. 

IT  was  a  happy  thought  of  Thoreau's  friend 
Ellery  Channing,  himself  a  poet,  to  style  our 
Concord  hermit  the  "  poet-naturalist ;  "  for  there 
seemed  to  be  no  year  of  his  life,  and  no  hour  of 
his  day  when  Nature  did  not  whisper  some  secret 
in  his  ear,  —  so  intimate  was  he  with  her  from 
childhood.  In  another  connection,  speaking  of 
natural  beauty,  Channing  said,  "  There  is  Tho- 
reau,  —  he  knows  about  it;  give  him  sunshine 
and  a  handful  of  nuts,  and  he  has  enough."  He 
was  also  a  naturalist  in  the  more  customary 
sense,  —  one  who  studied  and  arranged  methodi 
cally  in  his  mind  the  facts  of  outward  nature ;  a 
good  botanist  and  ornithologist,  a  wise  student 
of  insects  and  fishes ;  an  observer  of  the  winds, 
the  clouds,  the  seasons,  and  all  that  goes  to  make 
up  what  we  call  "  weather  "  and  "  climate."  Yet 
he  was  in  heart  a  poet,  and  held  all  the  accumu 
lated  knowledge  of  more  than  forty  years  not  so 
much  for  use  as  for  delight.  As  Gray's  poor 
friend  West  said  of  himself,  "  Like  a  clear-flow- 


2  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.      [1817-1855. 

ing  stream,  he  reflected  the  beauteous  prospect 
around ; "  and  Mother  Nature  had  given  Thoreau 
for  his  prospect  the  meandering  Indian  River  of 
Concord,  the  woodland  pastures  and  fair  lakes 
by  which  he  dwelt  or  rambled  most  of  his  life. 
Born  in  the  East  Quarter  of  Concord,  July  12, 
1817,  he  died  in  the  viUage,  May  6,  1862 ;  he 
was  there  fitted  for  Harvard  College,  which  he 
entered  in  1833,  graduating  in  1837;  and  for 
the  rest  of  his  life  was  hardly  away  from  the 
town  for  more  than  a  year  in  all.  Consequently 
his  letters  to  his  family  are  few,  for  he  was 
usually  among  them ;  but  when  separated  from 
his  elder  brother  John,  or  his  sisters  Helen  and 
Sophia,  he  wrote  to  them,  and  these  are  the 
earliest  of  his  letters  which  have  been  pre 
served.  Always  thoughtful  for  others,  he  has 
left  a  few  facts  to  aid  his  biographer,  respecting 
his  birth  and  early  years.  In  his  Journal  of 
December  27,  1855,  he  wrote  :  — 

"Recalled  this  evening,  with  the  aid  of 
Mother,  the  various  houses  (and  towns)  in 
which  I  have  lived,  and  some  events  of  my  life. 
Born  in  the  Minott  house  on  the  Virginia  Road, 
where  Father  occupied  Grandmother's  '  thirds ', 
carrying  on  the  farm.  The  Catherines  had  the 
other  half  of  the  house,  —  Bob  Catherine,  and 
[brother]  John  threw  up  the  turkeys.  Lived 
there  about  eight  months ;  Si  Merriam  the  next 


BIOGRAPHICAL   FACTS.  3 

neighbor.  Uncle  David  [Dunbar]  died  when  I 
was  six  weeks  old.1  I  was  baptized  in  the  old 
Meeting-house,  by  Dr.  Ripley,  when  I  was  three 
months,  and  did  not  cry.  In  the  Red  House, 
where  Grandmother  lived,  we  had  the  west  side 
till  October,  1818,  —  hiring  of  Josiah  Davis, 
agent  for  the  Woodwards;  there  were  uncle 
Charles  and  cousin  Charles  (Dunbar),  more  or 
less.  According  to  the  Day-Book  first  used  by 
Grandfather  (Thoreau),2  dated  1797  (his  part 
cut  out  and  then  used  by  Father  in  Concord  in 
1808-9,  and  in  Chelmsford  in  1818-21),  Father 
hired  of  Proctor  (in  Chelmsford),  and  shop  of 
Spaulding.  In  Chelmsford  till  March,  1821 ; 
last  charge  there  about  the  middle  of  March, 
1821.  Aunt  Sarah  taught  me  to  walk  there, 
when  fourteen  months  old.  We  lived  next  the 
meeting-house,  where  they  kept  the  powder  in 
the  garret.  Father  kept  shop  and  painted 
signs,  etc.  .  .  . 

1  He  was  named  David  for  this  uncle ;  Dr.  Ripley  was  the 
minister  of  the  whole  town  in  1817.     The  Red  House  stood 
near  the  Emerson  house  on  the  Lexington  road ;  the  Wood 
wards  were  a  wealthy  family,  afterwards  in  Quincy,  to  which 
town  Dr.  Woodward  left  a  large  bequest. 

2  John  Thoreau,  grandfather  of  Henry,  born  at  St.  Helier's, 
Jersey,  April,  1754,  was  a  sailor  on  board  the  American  priva 
teer  General  Lincoln,  November,    1779,   and   recognized   La 
Terrible,   French  frigate,  which   carried  John   Adams  from 
Boston  to  France.     See  Thoreau's  Summer,  p.  102.    This  John 
Thoreau,  son  of  Philip,  died  in  Concord,  1800. 


4  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.      [1821-1844. 

"  In  Pope's  house,  South  End  of  Boston  (a 
ten-footer)  five  or  six  months,  —  moved  from 
Chelmsford  through  Concord,  and  may  have 
tarried  in  Concord  a  little  while. 

"Day-book  says,  'Moved  to  Pinkney  Street 
(Boston),  September  10,  1821,  on  Monday ; ' 
Whitwell's  house,  Pinkney  Street,  to  March, 
1823 ;  then  brick  house,  Concord,  to  spring  of 
1826 ;  Davis  house  (next  to  Samuel  Hoar's)  to 
May  7,  1827 ;  Shattuck  house  (now  W.  Mun- 
roe's)  to  spring  of  1835 ;  Hollis  Hall,  Cam 
bridge,  1833 ;  Aunts'  house  to  spring  of  1837. 
[This  was  what  is  now  the  inn  called  '  Thoreau 
House.']  At  Brownson's  (Canton)  while  teach 
ing  in  winter  of  1835.  Went  to  New  York  with 
Father  peddling  in  1836." 

This  brings  the  date  down  to  the  year  in  which 
Henry  Thoreau  left  college,  and  when  the  family 
letters  begin.  The  notes  continue,  and  now 
begin  to  have  a  literary  value. 

"  Parkman  house  to  fall  of  1844 ;  was  gradu 
ated  in  1837  ;  kept  town  school  a  fortnight  that 
year ;  began  the  big  red  Journal,  October,  1837  ; 
found  my  first  arrow-head,  fall  of  1837 ;  wrote  a 
lecture  (my  first)  on  Society,  March  14,  1838, 
and  read  it  before  the  Lyceum,  in  the  Masons' 
Hall,  April  11, 1838 ;  went  to  Maine  for  a  school 
in  May,  1838 ;  commenced  school  in  the  Park- 


BIOGRAPHICAL  FACTS.  5 

man  house l  in  the  summer  of  that  year ;  wrote  an 
essay  on  '  Sound  and  Silence '  December,  1838  ; 
fall  of  1839  up  the  Merrimack  to  the  White 
Mountains ;  '  Aulus  Persius  Flaccus '  (first 
printed  paper  of  consequence),  February  10, 
1840 ;  the  Eed  Journal  of  596  pages  ended 
June,  1840 ;  Journal  of  396  pages  ended  Janu 
ary  31,  1841. 

"Went  to  R.  W.  Emerson's  in  spring  of 
1841  (about  April  25),  and  stayed  there  till 
summer  of  1843 ;  went  to  William  Emerson's, 
Staten  Island,  May,  1843,  and  returned  in  De 
cember,  or  to  Thanksgiving,  1843 ;  made  pen 
cils  in  1844 ;  Texas  house  to  August  29,  1850 ; 
at  Walden,  July,  1845,  to  fall  of  1847 ;  then  at 
R.  W.  Emerson's  to  fall  of  1848,  or  while  he 
was  in  Europe ;  then  in  the  Yellow  house  (re 
formed)  till  the  present." 

1  This  had  been  the  abode  of  old  Deacon  Parkman,  a  grand- 
uncle  of  the  late  Francis  Parkman,  the  historian,  and  son  of 
the  Westborough  clergyman  from  whom  this  distinguished 
family  descends.  Deacon  Parkman  was  a  merchant  in  Con 
cord,  and  lived  in  what  was  then  a  good  house.  It  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  village,  where  the  Public  Library  now  is. 
The  "  Texas "  house  was  built  by  Henry  Thoreau  and  his 
father  John ;  it  was  named  from  a  section  of  the  village  then 
called  "  Texas,"  because  a  little  remote  from  the  churches  and 
schools ;  perhaps  the  same  odd  fancy  that  had  bestowed  the 
name  of  "Virginia"  on  the  road  of  Thoreau's  birthplace. 
The  "  Yellow  house  re-formed  "  was  a  small  cottage  rebuilt 
and  enlarged  by  the  Thoreaus  in  1850 ;  in  this,  on  the  main 
street,  Henry  and  his  father  and  mother  died. 


6  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.     [1700-1787. 

As  may  be  inferred  from  this  simple  record  of 
the  many  mansions,  chiefly  small  ones,  in  which 
he  had  spent  his  first  thirty-eight  years,  there 
was  nothing  distinguished  in  the  fortunes  of 
Thoreau's  family,  who  were  small  merchants, 
artisans,  or  farmers,  mostly.  On  the  father's 
side  they  were  from  the  isle  of  Jersey,  where  a 
French  strain  mingled  with  his  English  or  Scan 
dinavian  blood ;  on  the  other  side  he  was  of 
Scotch  and  English  descent,  counting  Jones, 
Dunbar,  and  Burns  among  his  feminine  ances 
tors.  Liveliness  and  humor  came  to  him  from 
his  Scotch  connection  ;  from  father  and  grand 
father  he  inherited  a  grave  steadiness  of  mind 
rather  at  variance  with  his  mother's  vivacity. 
Manual  dexterity  was  also  inherited  ;  so  that  he 
practiced  the  simpler  mechanic  arts  with  ease 
and  skill;  his  mathematical  training  and  his 
outdoor  habits  fitted  him  for  a  land-surveyor; 
and  by  that  art,  as  well  as  by  pencil-making,  lec 
turing,  and  writing,  he  paid  his  way  in  the  world, 
and  left  a  small  income  from  his  writings  to  those 
who  survived  him.  He  taught  pupils  also,  as 
did  his  brother  and  sisters ;  but  it  was  not  an 
occupation  that  he  long  followed  after  John's 
death  in  1842.  With  these  introductory  state 
ments  we  may  proceed  to  Thoreau's  first  corre 
spondence  with  his  brother  and  sisters. 

As  an  introduction  to  the  correspondence,  and 


JET.  20.]     COMMENCEMENT  CONFERENCE.     1 

a  key  to  the  young  man's  view  of  life,  a  passage 
may  be  taken  from  Thoreau's  "  Part "  at  his  col 
lege  commencement,  August  16,  1837.  He  was 
one  of  two  to  hold  what  was  called  a  "  Confer 
ence  "  on  "  The  Commercial  Spirit,"  —  his  alter 
native  or  opponent  in  the  dispute  being  Henry 
Vose,  also  of  Concord,  who,  in  later  years,  was 
a  Massachusetts  judge.  Henry  Thoreau,1  then 
just  twenty,  said  :  — 

"  The  characteristic  of  our  epoch  is  perfect 
freedom,  —  freedom  of  thought  and  action.  The 
indignant  Greek,  the  oppressed  Pole,  the  jealous 
American  assert  it.  The  skeptic  no  less  than 
the  believer,  the  heretic  no  less  than  the  faithful 
child  of  the  Church,  have  begun  to  enjoy  it.  It 
has  generated  an  unusual  degree  of  energy  and 
activity ;  it  has  generated  the  commercial  spirit. 
Man  thinks  faster  and  freer  than  ever  before. 
He,  moreover,  moves  faster  and  freer.  He  is 
more  restless,  because  he  is  more  independent 
than  ever.  The  winds  and  the  waves  are  not 
enough  for  him ;  he  must  needs  ransack  the 
bowels  of  the  earth,  that  he  may  make  for 
himself  a  highway  of  iron  over  its  surface. 

"  Indeed,  could  one  examine  this  beehive  of 

1  During  the  greater  part  of  his  college  course  he  signed 
himself  D.  H.  Thoreau,  as  he  was  christened  (David  Henry) ; 
but  being  constantly  called  "  Henry,"  he  put  this  name  first 
about  the  time  he  left  college,  and  was  seldom  afterwards 
known  by  the  former  initials. 


8  YEARS   Of  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

ours  from  an  observatory  among  the  stars,  he 
would  perceive  an  unwonted  degree  of  bustle  in 
these  later  ages.  There  would  be  hammering 
and  chipping  in  one  quarter ;  baking  and  brew 
ing,  buying  and  selling,  money-changing  and 
speechmaking  in  another.  What  impression 
would  he  receive  from  so  general  and  impartial 
a  survey.  Would  it  appear  to  him  that  mankind 
used  this  world  as  not  abusing  it  ?  Doubtless 
he  would  first  be  struck  with  the  profuse  beauty 
of  our  orb  ;  he  would  never  tire  of  admiring  its 
varied  zones  and  seasons,  with  their  changes  of 
living.  He  could  not  but  notice  that  restless 
animal  for  whose  sake  it  was  contrived ;  but 
where  he  found  one  man  to  admire  with  him  his 
fair  dwelling-place,  the  ninety  and  nine  would  be 
scraping  together  a  little  of  the  gilded  dust  upon 
its  surface.  .  .  .  We  are  to  look  chiefly  for  the 
origin  of  the  commercial  spirit,  and  the  power 
that  still  cherishes  and  sustains  it,  in  a  blind  and 
unmanly  love  of  wealth.  Wherever  this  exists, 
it  is  too  sure  to  become  the  ruling  spirit ;  and, 
as  a  natural  consequence,  it  infuses  into  all  our 
thoughts  and  affections  a  degree  of  its  own  selfish 
ness  ;  we  become  selfish  in  our  patriotism,  selfish 
in  our  domestic  relations,  selfish  in  our  religion. 
"  Let  men,  true  to  their  natures,  cultivate  the 
moral  affections,  lead  manly  and  independent 
lives ;  let  them  make  riches  the  means  and  not 


jsT.20.]    COMMENCEMENT  CONFERENCE.     9 

the  end  of  existence,  and  we  shall  hear  no  more 
of  the  commercial  spirit.  The  sea  will  not  stag 
nate,  the  earth  will  be  as  green  as  ever,  and  the  air 
as  pure.  This  curious  world  which  we  inhabit 
is  more  wonderful  than  it  is  convenient ;  more 
beautiful  than  it  is  useful ;  it  is  more  to  be 
admired  and  enjoyed  than  used.  The  order  of 
things  should  be  somewhat  reversed ;  the  seventh 
should  be  man's  day  of  toil,  wherein  to  earn  his 
living  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow ;  and  the  other 
six  his  Sabbath  of  the  affections  and  the  soul,  — 
in  which  to  range  this  widespread  garden,  and 
drink  in  the  soft  influences  and  sublime  revela 
tions  of  Nature.  .  .  .  The  spirit  we  are  consider 
ing  is  not  altogether  and  without  exception  bad. 
We  rejoice  in  it  as  one  more  indication  of  the 
entire  and  universal  freedom  that  characterizes 
the  age  in  which  we  live,  —  as  an  indication  that 
the  human  race  is  making  one  more  advance  in 
that  infinite  series  of  progressions  which  awaits 
it.  We  glory  in  those  very  excesses  which  are 
a  source  of  anxiety  to  the  wise  and  good ;  as  an 
evidence  that  man  will  not  always  be  the  slave 
of  matter,  —  but  erelong,  casting  off  those  earth- 
born  desires  which  identify  him  with  the  brute, 
shall  pass  the  days  of  his  sojourn  in  this  his 
nether  Paradise,  as  becomes  the  Lord  of  Crea 
tion."  i 

1   The  impression  made  on  one  classmate  and  former  room- 


10  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

This  passage  is  noteworthy  as  showing  how 
early  the  philosophic  mind  was  developed  in 
Thoreau,  and  how  much  his  thought  and  expres 
sion  were  influenced  by  Emerson's  first  book,  — 

mate  ("  chum ")  of  Thoreau,  by  this  utterance,  will  be  seen 
by  this  fragment  of  a  letter  from  James  Richardson  of  Ded- 
ham  (afterwards  Reverend  J.  Richardson),  dated  Dedharn, 
September  7,  1837 :  — 

"  FBIEND  THOREAU,  —  After  you  had  finished  your  part  in 
the  Performances  of  Commencement  (the  tone  and  sentiment  of 
which,  by  the  way,  I  liked  much,  as  being1  of  a  sound  philoso 
phy),  I  hardly  saw  you  again  at  all.  Neither  at  Mr.  Quincy's 
levee,  neither  at  any  of  our  classmates'  evening  entertainments, 
did  I  find  you ;  though  for  the  purpose  of  taking  a  farewell, 
and  leaving  you  some  memento  of  an  old  chum,  as  well  as  on 
matters  of  business,  I  much  wished  to  see  your  face  once  more. 
Of  course  you  must  be  present  at  our  October  meeting, — 
notice  of  the  time  and  place  for  which  will  be  given  in  the 
newspapers.  I  hear  that  you  are  comfortably  located,  in  your 
native  town,  as  the  guardian  of  its  children,  in  the  immediate 
vicinity,  I  suppose,  of  one  of  our  most  distinguished  apostles 
of  the  future,  R.  W.  Emerson,  and  situated  under  the  minis 
try  of  our  old  friend  Reverend  Barzillai  Frost,  to  whom  please 
make  my  remembrances.  I  heard  from  you,  also,  that  Con 
cord  Academy,  lately  under  the  care  of  Mr.  Phineas  Allen  of 
Northfield,  is  now  vacant  of  a  preceptor;  should  Mr.  Hoar 
find  it  difficult  to  get  a  scholar  college-distinguished,  perhaps 
he  would  take  up  with  one,  who,  though  in  many  respects  a 
critical  thinker,  and  a  careful  philosopher  of  language  among 
other  things,  has  never  distinguished  himself  in  his  class  as  a 
regular  attendant  on  college  studies  and  rules.  If  so,  could 
you  do  me  the  kindness  to  mention  my  name  to  him  as  of  one 
intending  to  make  teaching  his  profession,  at  least  for  a  part 
of  his  life.  If  recommendations  are  necessary,  President 
Quincy  has  offered  me  one,  and  I  can  easily  get  others." 


2ET.20.]          EMERSON  AND   THOREAU.  11 

"  Nature."  But  the  soil  in  which  that  germina 
ting  seed  fell  was  naturally  prepared  to  receive 
it;  and  the  wide  diversity  between  the  master 
and  the  disciple  soon  began  to  appear.  In  1863, 
reviewing  Thoreau's  work,  Emerson  said,  "  That 
oaken  strength  which  I  noted  whenever  he 
walked  or  worked,  or  surveyed  wood-lots,  —  the 
same  unhesitating  hand  with  which  a  field- 
laborer  accosts  a  piece  of  work  which  I  should 
shun  as  a  waste  of  strength,  Henry  shows  in  his 
literary  task.  He  has  muscle,  and  ventures  on 
and  performs  feats  which  I  am  forced  to  decline. 
In  reading  him  I  find  the  same  thoughts,  the 
same  spirit  that  is  in  me ;  but  he  takes  a  step 
beyond,  and  illustrates  by  excellent  images  that 
which  I  should  have  conveyed  in  a  sleepy  gener 
alization."  True  as  this  is,  it  omits  one  point  of 
difference  only  too  well  known  to  Emerson,  — 
the  controversial  turn  of  Thoreau's  mind,  in 
which  he  was  so  unlike  Emerson  and  Alcott, 
and  which  must  have  given  to  his  youthful  utter 
ances  in  company  the  air  of  something  requiring 
an  apology. 

This,  at  all  events,  seems  to  have  been  the 
feeling  of  Helen  Thoreau,1  whose  pride  in  her 

1  This  eldest  of  the  children  of  John  Thoreau  and  Cynthia 
Dunbar  was  born  October  22,  1812,  and  died  June  14,  1849. 
Her  grandmother,  Mary  Jones  of  Weston,  Mass.,  belonged  to 
a  Tory  family,  and  several  of  the  Jones  brothers  served  as 
officers  in  the  British  army  against  General  Washington. 


12  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

brother  was  such  that  she  did  not  wish  to  see 
him  misunderstood.  A  pleasing  indication  of 
both  these  traits  is  seen  in  the  first  extant  letter 
of  Thoreau  to  this  sister.  I  have  this  in  an 
autograph  copy  made  by  Mr.  Emerson,  when  he 
was  preparing  the  letters  for  partial  publication, 
soon  after  Henry's  death.  For  some  reason  he 
did  not  insert  it  in  his  volume ;  but  it  quite  de 
serves  to  be  printed,  as  indicating  the  period 
when  it  was  clear  to  Thoreau  that  he  must  think 
for  himself,  whatever  those  around  him  might 
think. 

TO   HELEN   THOREAU    (AT   TAUNTON). 

CONCORD,  October  27,  1837. 

DEAR  HELEN,  —  Please  you,  let  the  defendant 
say  a  few  words  in  defense  of  his  long  silence. 
You  know  we  have  hardly  done  our  own  deeds, 
thought  our  own  thoughts,  or  lived  our  own  lives 
hitherto.  For  a  man  to  act  himself,  he  must  be 
perfectly  free ;  otherwise  he  is  in  danger  of  los 
ing  all  sense  of  responsibility  or  of  self-respect. 
Now  when  such  a  state  of  things  exists,  that  the 
sacred  opinions  one  advances  in  argument  are 
apologized  for  by  his  friends,  before  his  face, 
lest  his  hearers  receive  a  wrong  impression  of 
the  man,  —  when  such  gross  injustice  is  of  fre 
quent  occurrence,  where  shall  we  look,  and  not 
look  in  vain,  for  men,  deeds,  thoughts  ?  As 


2ET.20.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  13 

well  apologize  for  the  grape  that  it  is  sour,  or 
the  thunder  that  it  is  noisy,  or  the  lightning  that 
it  tarries  not. 

Further,  letter-writing  too  often  degenerates 
into  a  communicating  of  facts,  and  not  of  truths ; 
of  other  men's  deeds  and  not  our  thoughts.  What 
are  the  convulsions  of  a  planet,  compared  with 
the  emotions  of  the  soul?  or  the  rising  of  a 
thousand  suns,  if  that  is  not  enlightened  by  a 


ray? 


Your  affectionate  brother, 

HENRY. 


It  is  presumed  the  tender  sister  did  not  need 
a  second  lesson ;  and  equally  that  Henry  did  not 
see  fit  always  to  write  such  letters  as  he  praised 
above,  —  for  he  was  quite  ready  to  give  his  cor 
respondents  facts,  no  less  than  thoughts,  espe 
cially  in  his  family  letters. 

Next  to  this  epistle,  chronologically,  comes 
one  in  the  conventional  dialect  of  the  American 
Indian,  as  handed  down  by  travelers  and  ro 
mancers,  by  Jefferson,  Chateaubriand,  Lewis, 
Clarke,  and  Fenimore  Cooper.  John  Thoreau, 
Henry's  brother,  was  born  in  1815  and  died 
January  11,  1842.  He  was  teaching  at  Taun- 
ton  in  1837. 


14  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

TO   JOHN   THOREAU    (AT   TAUNTON). 
(Written  as  from  one  Indian  to  another.) 

MUSKETAQUID,  202  Summers,  two  Moons,  eleven  Suns, 

—  since  the  coming  of  the  Pale  Faces. 

(November  11,  1837.) 

TAHATAWAN,  Sachimaussan,  to  his  brother 
sachem,  Hopeful  of  Hope  well,  —  hoping  that  he 
is  well :  — 

Brother :  It  is  many  suns  that  I  have  not  seen 
the  print  of  thy  moccasins  by  our  council-fire ; 
the  Great  Spirit  has  blown  more  leaves  from 
the  trees,  and  many  clouds  from  the  land  of 
snows  have  visited  our  lodge ;  the  earth  has  be 
come  hard,  like  a  frozen  buffalo-skin,  so  that  the 
trampling  of  many  herds  is  like  the  Great  Spir 
it's  thunder ;  the  grass  on  the  great  fields  is  like 
the  old  man  of  many  winters,  and  the  small 
song-sparrow  prepares  for  his  flight  to  the  land 
whence  the  summer  comes. 

Brother :  I  write  these  things  because  I  know 
that  thou  lovest  the  Great  Spirit's  creatures, 
and  wast  wont  to  sit  at  thy  lodge-door,  when  the 
maize  was  green,  to  hear  the  bluebird's  song. 
So  shalt  thou,  in  the  land  of  spirits,  not  only 
find  good  hunting  grounds  and  sharp  arrow 
heads,  but  much  music  of  birds. 

Brother :  I  have  been  thinking  how  the  Pale 
Faces  have  taken  away  our  lands,  —  and  was  a 


MT.  20.]  TO  JOHN   THOREAU.  15 

woman.  You  are  fortunate  to  have  pitched  your 
wigwam  nearer  to  the  great  salt  lake,  where  the 
Pale  Face  can  never  plant  corn. 

Brother :  I  need  not  tell  thee  how  we  hunted 
on  the  lands  of  the  Dundees,  —  a  great  war- 
chief  never  forgets  the  bitter  taunts  of  his  ene 
mies.  Our  young  men  called  for  strong  water ; 
they  painted  their  faces  and  dug  up  the  hatchet. 
But  their  enemies,  the  Dundees,  were  women  ; 
they  hastened  to  cover  their  hatchets  with  wam 
pum.  Our  braves  are  not  many;  our  enemies 
took  a  few  strings  from  the  heap  their  fathers 
left  them,  and  our  hatchets  are  buried.  But  not 
Tahatawan's ;  his  heart  is  of  rock  when  the 
Dundees  sing,  —  his  hatchet  cuts  deep  into  the 
Dundee  braves. 

Brother :  There  is  dust  on  my  moccasins ;  I 
have  journeyed  to  the  White  Lake,  in  the  coun 
try  of  the  Ninares.1  The  Long-knife  has  been 

1  White  Pond,  in  the  district  called  "  Nine-Acre  Corner,"  is 
here  meant;  the  "Lee-vites"  were  a  family  then  living-  on 
Lee's  Hill.  Naushawtuck  is  another  name  for  this  hill,  where 
the  old  Tahatawan  lived  at  times,  before  the  English  settled 
in  Concord  in  September,  1635.  The  real  date  of  this  letter 
is  November  11-14,  1837,  and  between  its  two  dates  the  Massa 
chusetts  state  election  was  held.  The  "  great  council-house  " 
was  the  Boston  State  House,  to  which  the  Concord  people  were 
electing  deputies  ;  the  "  Eagle-Beak  "  named  below  was  doubt 
less  Samuel  Hoar,  the  first  citizen  of  the  town,  and  for  a  time 
Member  of  Congress  from  Middlesex  County.  He  was  the 
father  of  Rockwood  and  Frisbie  Hoar,  afterwards  judge  and 
senator  respectively. 


16  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

there,  —  like  a  woman  I  paddled  his  war-canoe. 
But  the  spirits  of  my  fathers  were  angered ;  the 
waters  were  ruffled,  and  the  Bad  Spirit  troubled 
the  air. 

The  hearts  of  the  Lee-vites  are  gladdened; 
the  young  Peacock  has  returned  to  his  lodge  at 
Naushawtuck.  He  is  the  Medicine  of  his  tribe, 
but  his  heart  is  like  the  dry  leaves  when  the 
whirlwind  breathes.  He  has  come  to  help 
choose  new  chiefs  for  the  tribe,  in  the  great 
Council-house,  when  two  suns  are  past.  —  There 
is  no  seat  for  Tahatawan  in  the  council-house. 
He  lets  the  squaws  talk,  —  his  voice  is  heard 
above  the  warwhoop  of  his  tribe,  piercing  the 
hearts  of  his  foes ;  his  legs  are  stiff,  he  cannot 
sit. 

Brother :  Art  thou  waiting  for  the  spring,  that 
the  geese  may  fly  low  over  thy  wigwam  ?  Thy 
arrows  are  sharp,  thy  bow  is  strong.  Has  Ana- 
wan  killed  all  the  eagles  ?  The  crows  fear  not 
the  winter.  Tahatawan's  eyes  are  sharp  —  he 
can  track  a  snake  in  the  grass,  he  knows  a 
friend  from  a  foe ;  he  welcomes  a  friend  to  his 
lodge  though  the  ravens  croak. 

Brother :  Hast  thou  studied  much  in  the  medi 
cine-books  of  the  Pale-Faces?  Dost  thou  un 
derstand  the  long  talk  of  the  Medicine  whose 
words  are  like  the  music  of  the  mocking-bird  ? 
But  our  chiefs  have  not  ears  to  hear  him ;  they 


jsT.20.]  TO  JOHN  THOREAU.  17 

listen  like  squaws  to  the  council  of  old  men,  — 
they  understand  not  his  words.  But,  Brother, 
he  never  danced  the  war-dance,  nor  heard  the 
warwhoop  of  his  enemies.  He  was  a  squaw ;  he 
stayed  by  the  wigwam  when  the  braves  were  out, 
and  tended  the  tame  buffaloes. 

Fear  not ;  the  Dundees  have  faint  hearts  and 
much  wampum.  When  the  grass  is  green  on 
the  great  fields,  and  the  small  titmouse  returns 
again,  we  will  hunt  the  buffalo  together. 

Our  old  men  say  they  will  send  the  young 
chief  of  the  Karlisles,  who  lives  in  the  green 
wigwam  and  is  a  great  Medicine,  that  his  word 
may  be  heard  in  the  long  talk  which  the  wise 
men  are  going  to  hold  at  Shawmut,  by  the  salt 
lake.  He  is  a  great  talk,  and  will  not  forget 
the  enemies  of  his  tribe. 

14th  Sun.  The  fire  has  gone  out  in  the  coun 
cil-house.  The  words  of  our  old  men  have  been 
like  the  vaunts  of  the  Dundees.  The  Eagle- 
Beak  was  moved  to  talk  like  a  silly  Pale-Face, 
and  not  as  becomes  a  great  war-chief  in  a  coun 
cil  of  braves.  The  young  Peacock  is  a  woman 
among  braves  ;  he  heard  not  the  words  of  the 
old  men,  —  like  a  squaw  he  looked  at  his  medi 
cine-paper.1  The  young  chief  of  the  green  wig- 

1  A  delicate  sarcasm  on  young  B.,  who  could  not  finish  his 
speech  in  town-meeting  without  looking  at  his  notes.  The  al 
lusion  to  the  "  Medicine  whose  words  are  like  the  music  of  the 


18  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1837, 

warn  has  hung  up  his  moccasins;  he  will  not 
leave  his  tribe  till  after  the  buffalo  have  come 
down  on  to  the  plains. 

Brother :  This  is  a  long  talk,  but  there  is 
much  meaning  to  my  words ;  they  are  not  like 
the  thunder  of  canes  when  the  lightning  smites 
them.  Brother,  I  have  just  heard  thy  talk  and 
am  well  pleased ;  thou  art  getting  to  be  a  great 
Medicine.  The  Great  Spirit  confound  the  ene 
mies  of  thy  tribe. 

TAHATAWAN. 

His  mark  (a  bow  and  arrow). 

This  singular  letter  was  addressed  to  John 
Thoreau  at  Taunton,  and  was  so  carefully  pre 
served  in  the  family  that  it  must  have  had  value 
in  their  eyes,  as  recalling  traits  of  the  two  Tho 
reau  brothers,  and  also  events  in  the  village 
life  of  Concord,  more  interesting  to  the  young 
people  of  1837  than  to  the  present  generation. 
Some  of  its  parables  are  easy  to  read,  others 
quite  obscure.  The  annual  state  election  was 
an  important  event  to  Henry  Thoreau  then,  — 
more  so  than  it  afterwards  appeared;  and  he 

mocking-bird  "  is  hard  to  explain  ;  it  may  mean  Edward  Ever 
ett,  then  governor  of  Massachusetts,  or,  possibly,  Emerson, 
whose  lectures  began  to  attract  notice  in  Boston  and  Cam 
bridge.  It  can  hardly  mean  Wendell  Phillips,  though  his 
melodious  eloquence  had  lately  been  heard  in  attacks  upon 
slavery. 


asT.20.]    HENRY  AND  JOHN   THOREAU.         19 

was  certainly  on  the  Whig  side  in  politics,  like 
most  of  the  educated  youths  of  Concord.  His 
"young  chief  of  the  Karlisles  "  was  Albert  Nel 
son,  son  of  a  Carlisle  physician,  who  began  to 
practice  law  in  Concord  in  1836,  and  was  after 
wards  chief  justice  of  the  Superior  Court.  He 
was  defeated  at  the  election  of  1837,  as  candi 
date  of  the  Whigs  for  representative  in  the 
state  legislature,  by  a  Democrat.  Henry  Vose, 
above  named,  writing  from  "  Butternuts,"  in 
New  York,  three  hundred  miles  west  of  Concord, 
October  22,  1837,  said  to  Thoreau :  "  You  envy 
my  happy  situation,  and  mourn  over  your  fate, 
which  condemns  you  to  loiter  about  Concord 
and  grub  among  clamshells  [for  Indian  relics]. 
If  this  were  your  only  source  of  enjoyment  while 
in  Concord,  —  but  I  know  that  it  is  not.  I  well 
remember  that  '  antique  and  fish-like '  office  of 
Major  Nelson  (to  whom,  and  to  Mr.  Dennis, 
and  Bemis,  and  John  Thoreau,  I  wish  to  be  re 
membered)  ;  and  still  more  vividly  do  I  remem 
ber  the  fairer  portion  of  the  community  in  C." 
This  indicates  a  social  habit  in  Henry  and  John 
Thoreau,  which  the  Indian  "talk"  also  implies. 
Tahatawan,  whom  Henry  here  impersonated, 
was  the  mythical  Sachem  of  Musketaquid  (the 
Algonquin  name  for  Concord  River  and  region), 
whose  fishing  and  hunting  lodge  was  on  the  hill 
Naushawtuck,  between  the  two  rivers  so  much 


20  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1838, 

navigated  by  the  Thoreaus.  In  1837  the  two 
brothers  were  sportsmen,  and  went  shooting  over 
the  Concord  meadows  and  moors,  but  of  course 
the  "  buffalo  "  was  a  figure  of  speech;  they  never 
shot  anything  larger  than  a  raccoon.  A  few 
years  later  they  gave  up  killing  the  game. 

TO   JOHN   THOREAU    (AT   TAUNTON). 

CONCORD,  February  10,  1838. 

DEAR  JOHN,  —  Dost  expect  to  elicit  a  spark 
from  so  dull  a  steel  as  myself,  by  that  flinty 
subject  of  thine?  Truly,  one  of  your  copper 
percussion  caps  would  have  fitted  this  nail-head 
better. 

Unfortunately,  the  "Americana"1  has  hardly 
two  words  on  the  subject.  The  process  is  very 
simple.  The  stone  is  struck  with  a  mallet  so  as 
to  produce  pieces  sharp  at  one  end,  and  blunt  at 
the  other.  These  are  laid  upon  a  steel  line 
(probably  a  chisel's  edge),  and  again  struck 
with  the  mallet,  and  flints  of  the  required  size 

1  Americana,  in  this  note,  is  the  old  Encyclopedia  Americana, 
which  had  been  edited  from  the  German  Conversations-Lexicon, 
and  other  sources,  by  Dr.  Francis  Lieber,  T.  G.  Bradford,  and 
other  Boston  scholars,  ten  years  earlier,  and  was  the  only  con 
venient  book  of  reference  at  Thoreau's  hand.  The  inquiry  of 
John  Thoreau  is  another  evidence  of  the  interest  he  took,  like 
his  brother,  in  the  Indians  and  their  flint  arrow-heads.  The 
relics  mentioned  in  the  next  letter  were  doubtless  Indian  wea 
pons  and  utensils,  very  common  about  Taunton  in  the  region 
formerly  controlled  by  King  Philip, 


asT.20.]  TO  JOHN  THOREAU.  21 

are  broken  off.     A  skillful  workman  may  make 
a  thousand  in  a  day. 

So  much  for  the  "  Americana."  Dr.  Jacob 
Bigelow  in  his  "Technology"  says,  "Gunflints 
are  formed  by  a  skillful  workman,  who  breaks 
them  out  with  a  hammer,  a  roller,  and  steel 
chisel,  with  small,  repeated  strokes." 

Your  ornithological  commission  shall  be  exe 
cuted.     When  are  you  coming  home  ? 
Your  affectionate  brother, 

HENKY  D.  THOREAU. 

TO   JOHN   THOREAU    (AT   TAUNTON). 

CONCORD,  March  17,  1838. 

DEAR  JOHN,  —  Your  box  of  relics  came  safe 
to  hand,  but  was  speedily  deposited  on  the  car 
pet,  I  assure  you.  What  could  it  be  ?  Some 
declared  it  must  be  Tauntoii  herrings  :  "  Just 
nose  it,  sir  !  "  So  down  we  went  onto  our  knees, 
and  commenced  smelling  in  good  earnest,  — 
now  horizontally  from  this  corner  to  that,  now 
perpendicularly  from  the  carpet  up,  now  diago 
nally,  —  and  finally  with  a  sweeping  movement 
describing  the  circumference.  But  it  availed 
not.  Taunton  herring  would  not  be  smelled. 
So  we  e'en  proceeded  to  open  it  vi  et  chisel. 
What  an  array  of  nails!  Four  nails  make  a 
quarter,  four  quarters  a  yard,  —  i'  faith,  this 
is  n't  cloth  measure !  Blaze  away,  old  boy ! 


22  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1838, 

Clap  in  another  wedge,  then !  There,  softly ! 
she  begins  to  gape.  Just  give  that  old  stick 
ler,  with  a  black  hat  on,  another  hoist.  Aye, 
we  '11  pare  his  nails  for  him  !  Well  done,  old 
fellow,  there  's  a  breathing-hole  for  you.  "  Drive 
it  in  !  "  cries  one  ;  "  Nip  it  off  !  "  cries  another. 
Be  easy,  I  say.  What 's  clone  may  be  undone. 
Your  richest  veins  don't  lie  nearest  the  surface. 
Suppose  we  sit  down  and  enjoy  the  prospect, 
for  who  knows  but  we  may  be  disappointed? 
When  they  opened  Pandora's  box,  all  the  con 
tents  escaped  except  Hope,  but  in  this  case  hope 
is  uppermost,  and  will  be  the  first  to  escape 
when  the  box  is  opened.  However,  the  general 
voice  was  for  kicking  the  coverlid  off. 

The  relics  have  been  arranged  numerically 
on  a  table.  When  shall  we  set  up  housekeep 
ing  ?  Miss  Ward  thanks  you  for  her  share  of 
the  spoils  ;  also  accept  many  thanks  from  your 
humble  servant  "  for  yourself." 

I  have  a  proposal  to  make.  Suppose  by  the 
time  you  are  released  we  should  start  in  com 
pany  for  the  West,  and  there  either  establish  a 
school  jointly,  or  procure  ourselves  separate  sit 
uations.  Suppose,  moreover,  you  should  get 
ready  to  start  previous  to  leaving  Taunton,  to 
save  time.  Go  I  must,  at  all  events.  Dr.  Jar- 
vis  enumerates  nearly  a  dozen  schools  which  I 
could  have,  —  all  such  as  would  suit  you  equally 


2ET.20.]  TO  JOHN  THOREAU.  23 

well.1  I  wish  you  would  write  soon  about  this. 
It  is  high  season  to  start.  The  canals  are  now 
open,  and  traveling  comparatively  cheap.  I 
think  I  can  borrow  the  cash  in  this  town. 
There  's  nothing  like  trying. 

Brigham  wrote  you  a  few  words  on  the  8th, 
which  father  took  the  liberty  to  read,  with  the 
advice  and  consent  of  the  family.  He  wishes 
you  to  send  him  those  (numbers)  of  the  "  Li 
brary  of  Health"  received  since  1838,  if  you 
are  in  Concord ;  otherwise,  he  says  you  need 
not  trouble  yourself  about  it  at  present.  He  is 
in  C.,  and  enjoying  better  health  than  usual. 
But  one  number,  and  that  you  have,  has  been 
received. 

The  bluebirds  made  their  appearance  the  14th 
day  of  March ;  robins  and   pigeons   have  also 
been  seen.     Mr.  Emerson  has  put  up  the  blue 
bird  box  in  due  form.     All  send  their  love. 
From  your  aff.  br. 

H.  D.  THOKEAU. 

[Postscript  by  Helen  Thoreau.] 

DEAR  JOHN,  —  Will  you  have  the  kindness 

1  Dr.  Edward  Jarvis,  born  in  Concord  (1803),  had  gone  to 
Louisville,  Ky.,  in  April,  1837,  and  was  thriving  there  as  a 
physician.  He  knew  the  Thoreaus  well,  and  gave  them  good 
hopes  of  success  in  Ohio  or  Kentucky  as  teachers.  The  plan 
was  soon  abandoned,  and  Henry  went  to  Maine  to  find  a 
school,  but  without  success.  See  Sanborn's  Thoreau,  p.  57. 


24  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1838, 

to  inquire  at  Mr.  Marston's  for  an  old  singing- 
book  I  left  there,  —  the  "  Handel  and  Haydn 
Collection,"  without  a  cover?  Have  you  ever 
got  those  red  handkerchiefs?  Much  love  to 
the  Marstons,  Crockers,  and  Muenschers.  Mr. 
Josiah  Davis  has  failed.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Howe 
have  both  written  again,  urging  my  going  to 
Koxbury  ;  which  I  suppose  I  shall  do.  What 
day  of  the  month  shall  you  return  ? 

HELEN. 

One  remark  in  this  letter  calls  for  attention, 
—  that  concerning  the  "  bluebird  box  "  for  Mr. 
Emerson.  In  1853  Emerson  wrote  in  his  jour 
nal  :  "  Long  ago  I  wrote  of  Gifts,  and  neglected 
a  capital  example.  John  Thoreau,  Jr.,  one  day 
put  a  bluebird's  box  on  my  barn,  —  fifteen  years 
ago  it  must  be,  —  and  there  it  still  is,  with 
every  summer  a  melodious  family  in  it,  adorning 
the  place  and  singing  his  praises.  There  's  a 
gift  for  you,  —  which  cost  the  giver  no  money, 
but  nothing  which  he  bought  could  have  been 
so  good.  I  think  of  another,  quite  inestimable. 
John  Thoreau  knew  how  much  I  should  value  a 
head  of  little  Waldo,  then  five  years  old.  He 
came  to  me  and  offered  to  take  him  to  a  daguer- 
reotypist  who  was  then  in  town,  and  he  (Tho 
reau)  would  see  it  well  done.  He  did  it,  and 
brought  me  the  daguerre,  which  I  thankfully 


JST.20.]  TO  JOHN  THOREAU.  25 

paid  for.  A  few  months  after,  my  boy  died; 
and  I  have  since  to  thank  John  Thoreau  for 
that  wise  and  gentle  piece  of  friendship." 

Little  Waldo  Emerson  died  January  27, 1842, 
and  John  Thoreau  the  same  month  ;  so  that  this 
taking  of  the  portrait  must  have  been  but  a  few 
months  before  his  own  death,  January  11.  Henry 
Thoreau  was  then  living  in  the  Emerson  family. 

TO   JOHN   THOREAU    (AT   WEST   ROXBURY). 

CONCORD,  July  8,  1838. 

DEAR  JOHN,  —  We  heard  from  Helen  to-day, 
and  she  informs  us  that  you  are  coming  home 
by  the  first  of  August.  Now  I  wish  you  to 
write  and  let  me  know  exactly  when  your  vaca 
tion  takes  place,  that  I  may  take  one  at  the 
same  time.  I  am  in  school  from  8  to  12  in  the 
morning,  and  from  2  to  4  in  the  afternoon. 
After  that  I  read  a  little  Greek  or  English,  or, 
for  variety,  take  a  stroll  in  the  fields.  We 
have  not  had  such  a  year  for  berries  this  long 
time,  —  the  earth  is  actually  blue  with  them. 
High  blueberries,  three  kinds  of  low,  thimble- 
and  raspberries  constitute  my  diet  at  present. 
(Take  notice,  —  I  only  diet  between  meals.) 
Among  my  deeds  of  charity,  I  may  reckon  the 
picking  of  a  cherry-tree  for  two  helpless  single 
ladies,  who  live  under  the  hill ;  but  i'  faith,  it 
was  robbing  Peter  to  pay  Paul,  —  for  while  I 


26  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1838, 

was  exalted  in  charity  towards  them,  I  had  no 
mercy  on  my  own  stomach.  Be  advised,  my 
love  for  currants  continues. 

The  only  addition  that  I  have  made  to  my 
stock  of  ornithological  information  is  in  the 
shape  not  of  a  Fring.  Melod.,  —  but  surely  a 
melodious  Fringilla,  —  the  F.  Juncorum,  or 
rush-sparrow.  I  had  long  known  him  by  note, 
but  never  by  name. 

Report  says  that  Elijah  Stearns  is  going  to 
take  the  town  school.  I  have  four  scholars,  and 
one  more  engaged.  Mr.  Fenner  left  town  yes 
terday.  Among  occurrences  of  ill  omen  may  be 
mentioned  the  falling  out  and  cracking  of  the 
inscription  stone  of  Concord  Monument.1  Mrs. 
Lowell  and  children  are  at  Aunts'.  Peabody 
(a  college  classmate)  walked  up  last  Wednes 
day,  spent  the  night,  and  took  a  stroll  in  the 
woods. 

Sophia  says  I  must  leave  off  and  pen  a  few 
lines  for  her  to  Helen  :  so  good-by.  Love  from 
all,  and  among  them  your  aff.  brother, 

H.  D.  T. 

The  school  above  mentioned  as  begun  by 
Henry  Thoreau  in  this  summer  of  1838  was 

1  This  was  the  old  monument  of  the  Fight  in  1775,  for  the 
dedication  of  which  Emerson  wrote  his  hymn,  "  By  the  rude 
bridge."  This  was  sung  by  Thoreau,  among  others,  to  the 
tune  of  Old  Hundred. 


JET.21.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  27 

joined  in  by  John,  after  finishing  his  teaching 
at  West  Roxbury,  and  was  continued  for  several 
years.  It  was  in  this  school  that  Louisa  Alcott 
and  her  sister  received  some  instruction,  after 
their  father  removed  from  Boston  to  Concord, 
in  the  spring  of  1840.  It  was  opened  in  the 
Parkmaii  house,  where  the  family  then  lived, 
and  soon  after  was  transferred  to  the  building 
of  the  Concord  Academy,1  not  far  off.  John 
Thoreau  taught  the  English  branches  and  math 
ematics  ;  Henry  taught  Latin  and  Greek  and 
the  higher  mathematics,  —  and  it  was  the  cus 
tom  of  both  brothers  to  go  walking  with  their 
pupils  one  afternoon  each  week.  It  is  as  a  pro 
fessional  schoolmaster  that  Henry  thus  writes  to 
his  sister  Helen,  then  teaching  at  Roxbury,  after 
a  like  experience  in  Taunton. 

TO    HELEN   THOREAU    (AT    ROXBURY). 

CONCORD,  October  6,  1838. 

DEAR  HELEN,  —  I  dropped  Sophia's  letter 
into  the  box  immediately  on  taking  yours  out, 
else  the  tone  of  the  former  had  been  changed. 

I  have  no  acquaintance  with  "  Cleaveland's 
First  Lessons,"  though  I  have  peeped  into  his 
abridged  grammar,  which  I  should  think  very 
well  calculated  for  beginners,  —  at  least  for  such 

1  For  twenty-five  years  (1866-91)  the  house  of  Ellery  Chan- 
ning,  and  now  of  Charles  Emerson,  nephew  of  Waldo  Emerson. 


28  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1838, 

as  would  be  likely  to  wear  out  one  book  before 
they  would  be  prepared  for  the  abstruser  parts 
of  grammar.  Ahem ! 

As  no  one  can  tell  what  was  the  Roman  pro 
nunciation,  each  nation  makes  the  Latin  con- 
form,  for  the  most  part,  to  the  rules  of  its  own 
language  ;  so  that  with  us  of  the  vowels  only  A 
has  a  peculiar  sound.  In  the  end  of  a  word  of 
more  than  one  syllable  it  is  sounded  like  "  ah," 
as  pennah,  Lydiah,  Hannah,  etc.,  without  re 
gard  to  case ;  but  "  da  "  is  never  sounded  "  dah" 
because  it  is  a  monosyllable.  All  terminations 
in  es,  and  plural  cases  in  os,  as  you  know,  are 
pronounced  long,  —  as  homines  (hominese),  do- 
minos  (dominose),  or,  in  English,  Johnny  Vose. 
For  information,  see  Adams'  "  Latin  Gram 
mar,"  before  the  Rudiments. 

This  is  all  law  and  gospel  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world ;  but  remember  I  am  speaking,  as  it  were, 
in  the  third  person,  and  should  sing  quite  a  dif 
ferent  tune  if  it  were  I  that  made  the  quire. 
However,  one  must  occasionally  hang  his  harp 
on  the  willows,  and  play  on  the  Jew's  harp,  in 
such  a  strange  country  as  this. 

One  of  your  young  ladies  wishes  to  study 
mental  philosophy,  hey?  Well,  tell  her  that 
she  has  the  very  best  text-book  that  I  know  of 
in  her  possession  already.  If  she  do  not  be 
lieve  it,  then  she  should  have  bespoken  another 


JET.  21.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  29 

better  in  another  world,  and  not  have  expected 
to  find  one  at  "  Little  &  Wilkins."  But  if  she 
wishes  to  know  how  poor  an  apology  for  a  men 
tal  philosophy  men  have  tacked  together,  syn 
thetically  or  analytically,  in  these  latter  days,  — 
how  they  have  squeezed  the  infinite  mind  into 
a  compass  that  would  not  nonplus  a  surveyor  of 
Eastern  Lands  —  making  Imagination  and  Mem 
ory  to  lie  still  in  their  respective  apartments 
like  ink-stand  and  wafers  in  a  lady's  escritoire, 
-  why  let  her  read  Locke,  or  Stewart,  or  Brown. 
The  fact  is,  mental  philosophy  is  very  like  Pov 
erty,  which,  you  know,  begins  at  home  ;  and  in 
deed,  when  it  goes  abroad,  it  is  poverty  itself. 

Chorus.  I  should  think  an  abridgment  of 
one  of  the  above  authors,  or  of  Abercrombie, 
would  answer  her  purpose.  It  may  set  her 
a-thinking.  Probably  there  are  many  systems 
in  the  market  of  which  I  am  ignorant, 

As  for  themes,  say  first  "Miscellaneous 
Thoughts."  Set  one  up  to  a  window,  to  note 
what  passes  in  the  street,  and  make  her  com 
ments  thereon;  or  let  her  gaze  in  the  fire,  or 
into  a  corner  where  there  is  a  spider's  web,  and 
philosophize,  moralize,  theorize,  or  what  not. 
What  their  hands  find  to  putter  about,  or  their 
minds  to  think  about,  that  let  them  write  about. 
To  say  nothing  of  advantage  or  disadvantage  of 
this,  that,  or  the  other,  let  them  set  down  their 


30  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1840, 

ideas  at  any  given  season,  preserving  the  chain 
of  thought  as  complete  as  may  be. 

This  is  the  style  pedagogical.  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you  for  your  piece  of  information. 
Knowing  your  dislike  to  a  sentimental  letter,  I 
remain 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

H.  D.  T. 

The  next  letter  to  Helen  carries  this  pedagogi 
cal  style  a  little  farther,  for  it  is  in  Latin,  ad 
dressed  "  Ad  Helenam  L.  Thoreau,  Roxbury, 
Mass.,"  and  postmarked  "  Concord,  Jan.  25  " 
(1840). 

TO   HELEN   THOREAU    (AT   ROXBURY). 

CONCOBDIAE,  Dec.  Kal.  Feb.  A.  D.  MDCCCXL. 

CAKA  SOROR,  —  Est  magnus  acervus  nivis  ad 
limina,  et  frigus  intolerabile  intus.  Coelurn  ip- 
sum  ruit,  credo,  et  terrain  operit.  Sero  stratum 
linquo  et  mature  repeto ;  in  fenestris  multa 
pruina  prospectum  absumit ;  et  hie  miser  scribo, 
non  currente  calamo,  nam  digiti  mentesque  tor- 
pescunt.  Canerem  cum  Horatio,  si  vox  non 
f aucibus  haeserit,  — 

Vides  ut  alta  stet  nive  candidura 
Nawshawtuct,  nee  jam  sustineant  onus 

Silvae  laborantes,  geluque 

Flumina  constiterint  acuto  ? 


jsT.22.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  31 

Dissolve  f rigus,  ligna  super  foco 
Large  reponens,  etc. 

Seel  olim,  Musa  mutata,  et  laetiore  plectro, 

Neque  jam  stabulis  gaudet  pecus,  aut  arator  igne, 

Nee  prata  canis  albicant  pruinis ; 
Jam  Cytherea  choros  ducit  Venus  imminente  luua. 

Quam  turdus  ferrugineus  ver  recluxerit,  tu, 
spero,  linques  curas  scliolasticas,  et,  negotio  re- 
ligato,  desipere  in  loco  audebis ;  aut  mecum  in 
ter  sylvas,  aut  super  scopulos  Pulchri-Portus, 
aut  in  cymba  super  lacum  Waldensem,  mulcens 
fluctus  manu,  aut  speciem  miratus  sub  uiidas. 

Bulwerius  est  mihi  nomen  incognitum, —  unus 
ex  ignobile  vulgo,  nee  refutandus  nee  laudandus. 
Certe  alicui  nonnullam  honorem  habeo  qui  in- 
sanabili  cacoethe  scribendi  teneatur. 

Specie  flagrantis  Lexingtonis  non  somnia  de- 
turbat?  At  non  Vulcaiium  Neptunumque  cul- 
peinus,  cum  superstitioso  grege.  Natura  curat 
animalculis  aeque  ac  hominibus ;  cum  serena, 
turn  procellosa,  arnica  est. 

Si  amas  liistoriam  et  fortia  facta  heroum,  non 
depone  Rollin,  precor;  ne  Clio  offenclas  iiuiic, 
nee  ilia  det  veniam  olim.  Quos  libros  Latinos 
legis?  legis,  inquam,  non  studes.  Beatus  qui 
potest  suos  libellos  tractare,  et  saepe  perlegere, 
sine  metu  domini  urgentis  !  ab  otio  injurioso 
procul  est:  suos  amicos  et  vocare  et  dimittere 
quandocunque  velit,  potest.  Bonus  liber  opus 


32  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1840, 

nobilissimum  liominis.  Hinc  ratio  non  modo 
cur  legeres,  sed  cur  tu  quoque  scriberes ;  nee 
lectores  carent ;  ego  sum.  Si  non  librum  medi- 
taris,  libellum  certe.  Niliil  posteris  proderit  te 
spirasse,  et  vitam  nunc  leniter  iiiinc  aspere 
egisse ;  sed  cogitasse  praecipue  et  scripsisse. 
Vereor  ne  tibi  pertaesum  hujus  epistolae  sit ; 
necnon  alma  lux  caret, 

Majoresque  cadunt  altis  de  montibus  umbrae. 

Quamobrem  vale,  —  imo  valete,  et  requiescatis 
placide,  Sorores. 

H.  D.  THOREAUS. 
Memento  scribere ! 

CARA  SOPHIA,  —  Samuel  Niger  crebris  aegro- 
tationibus,  quae  agilitatem  et  aequum  animum 
abstulere,  obnoxius  est;  iis  temporibus  ad  eel- 
lam  descendit,  et  multas  horas  (ibi)  manet. 

Flores,  ah  crudelis  pruina !  parvo  leti  discrim- 
ine  sunt.  Cactus  frigore  ustus  est,  gerania  vero 
adhuc  vigent. 

Conventus  sociabiles  hac  hieme  reinstituti  fu- 
ere.  Conveniunt  (?)  ad  meum  donium  niense 
quarto  vel  quiiito,  ut  tu  hie  esse  possis.  Mater- 
tera  Sophia  cum  nobis  remanet ;  quando  urbem 
revertet  non  scio.  Gravedine  etiamnum,  sed 
non  tarn  aegre,  laboramus. 

Adolescentula  E.  White  apud  pagum  paulis- 


2BT.22.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  33 

per  moratur.     Memento  scribere  intra  duas  heb- 
domedas. 

Te  valere  desiderium  est 

Tui  Matris, 

C.  THOREAUS. 

P.  S.  Epistolam  die  soils  proxima  expecta- 
mus.  (Amanuense,  H.  D.  T.) 

Barring  a  few  slips,  this  is  a  good  and  lively 
piece  of  Latin,  and  noticeable  for  its  thought  as 
well  as  its  learning  and  humor.  The  poets  were 
evidently  his  favorites  among  Latin  authors. 
Shall  we  attempt  a  free  translation,  such  as 
Thoreau  would  give  ? 

VERNACULAR   VERSION. 

CONCOKD,  January  23,  1840. 

DEAR  SISTER,  —  There  is  a  huge  snowdrift  at 
the  door,  and  the  cold  inside  is  intolerable.  The 
very  sky  is  coming  down,  I  guess,  and  covering 
up  the  ground.  I  turn  out  late  in  the  morning, 
and  go  to  bed  early ;  there  is  thick  frost  on  the 
windows,  shutting  out  the  view ;  and  here  I  write 
in  pain,  for  fingers  and  brains  are  numb.  I 
would  chant  with  Horace,  if  my  voice  did  not 
stick  in  my  throat,  — 

See  how  Nashawtuck,  deep  in  snow, 
Stands  glittering',  while  the  bending  woods 


34  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1840, 

Scarce  bear  their  burden,  and  the  floods 
Feel  arctic  winter  stay  their  flow. 

Pile  on  the  firewood,  melt  the  cold, 
Spare  nothing1,  etc. 

But  soon,  changing  my  tune,  and  with  a  cheer- 
fuller  note,  I  '11  say,  — 

No  longer  the  flock  huddles  up  in  the  stall,  the  plowman  bends 

over  the  fire, 

No  longer  frost  whitens  the  meadow  ; 
But  the  goddess  of  love,  while  the  moon  shines  above, 
Sets  us  dancing  in  light  and  in  shadow. 

When  Robin  Redbreast  brings  back  the 
springtime,  I  trust  that  you  will  lay  your  school- 
duties  aside,  cast  off  care,  and  venture  to  be  gay 
now  and  then  ;  roaming  with  me  in  the  woods, 
or  climbing  the  Fairhaven  cliffs,  —  or  else,  in 
my  boat  on  Walden,  let  the  water  kiss  your 
hand,  or  gaze  at  your  image  in  the  wave. 

Bulwer  is  to  me  a  name  unknown,  —  one  of 
the  unnoticed  crowd,  attracting  neither  blame 
nor  praise.  To  be  sure,  I  hold  any  one  in  some 
esteem  who  is  helpless  in  the  grasp  of  the  writ 
ing  demon. 

Does  not  the  image  of  the  Lexington  afire 
trouble  your  dreams?1  But  we  may  not,  like 
the  superstitious  mob,  blame  Vulcan  or  Neptune, 
—  neither  fire  nor  water  was  in  fault.  Nature 

1  The  steamer  Lexington  lately  burnt  on  Long  Island  Sound, 
with  Dr.  Follen  on  board. 


J5T.22.]  TO  HELEN  THOREAU.  35 

takes  as  much  care  for  midgets  as  for  mankind ; 
she  is  our  friend  in  storm  and  in  calm. 

If  you  like  history,  and  the  exploits  of  the 
brave,  don't  give  up  Rollin,  I  beg ;  thus  would 
you  displease  Clio,  who  might  not  forgive  you 
hereafter.  What  Latin  are  you  reading?  I 
mean  reading,  not  studying.  Blessed  is  the  man 
who  can  have  his  library  at  hand,  and  oft  peruse 
the  books,  without  the  fear  of  a  taskmaster !  he 
is  far  enough  from  harmful  idleness,  who  can 
call  in  and  dismiss  these  friends  when  he  pleases. 
An  honest  book 's  the  noblest  work  of  Man. 
There  's  a  reason,  now,  not  only  for  your  read 
ing,  but  for  writing  something,  too.  You  will 
not  lack  readers,  —  here  am  I,  for  one.  If  you 
cannot  compose  a  volume,  then  try  a  tract.  It 
will  do  the  world  no  good,  hereafter,  if  you 
merely  exist,  and  pass  life  smoothly  or  roughly ; 
but  to  have  thoughts,  and  write  them  down,  that 
helps  greatly. 

I  fear  you  will  tire  of  this  epistle ;  the  light 
of  day  is  dwindling,  too,  — 

And  longer  fall  the  shadows  of  the  hills. 

Therefore,  good-by;  fare  ye  well,  and  sleep 
in  quiet,  both  my  sisters !  Don't  forget  to  write. 

H.  D.  THOKEAU. 


36  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1840, 

POSTSCRIPT.     (BY  MRS.  THOREAU.) 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  Sam  Black  (the  cat)  is  liable 
to  frequent  attacks  that  impair  his  agility  and 
good-nature  ;  at  such  times  he  goes  down  cellar, 
and  stays  many  hours.  Your  flowers  —  O,  the 
cruel  frost !  are  all  but  dead  ;  the  cactus  is  with 
ered  by  cold,  but  the  geraniums  yet  flourish. 
The  Sewing  Circle  has  been  revived  this  winter ; 
they  meet  at  our  house  in  April  or  May,  so  that 
you  may  then  be  here.  Your  Aunt  Sophia  re 
mains  with  us,  —  when  she  will  return  to  the 
city  I  don't  know.  We  still  suffer  from  heavy 
colds,  but  not  so  much.  Young  Miss  E.  White 
is  staying  in  the  village  a  little  while  (is  making 
a  little  visit  in  town).  Don't  forget  to  write 
within  two  weeks.  We  expect  a  letter  next 
Sunday. 

That  you  may  enjoy  good  health  is  the  prayer 
of  Your  mother, 

C.  THOREAU. 

(H.  D.  T.  was  the  scribe). 

Cats  were  always  an  important  branch  of  the 
Thoreaus'  domestic  economy,  arid  Henry  was 
more  tolerant  of  them  than  men  are  wont  to  be. 
Flowers  were  the  specialty  of  Sophia,  who,  when 
I  knew  her,  from  1855  to  1876,  usually  had  a 
small  conservatory  in  a  recess  of  the  dining- 


SIT.  22.]  TO  HELEN  THOREAU.  37 

room.  At  this  time  (1840)  she  seems  to  have 
been  aiding  Helen  in  her  school.  The  next  let 
ter,  to  Helen,  is  of  a  graver  tone :  — 

TO   HELEN   THOREAU    (AT   ROXBURY). 

CONCORD,  June  13,  1840. 

DEAR  HELEN,  —  That  letter  to  John,  for 
which  you  had  an  opportunity  doubtless  to  sub 
stitute  a  more  perfect  communication,  fell,  as 
was  natural,  into  the  hands  of  his  "transcen 
dental  brother,"  who  is  his  proxy  in  such  cases, 
having  been  commissioned  to  acknowledge  and 
receipt  all  bills  that  may  be  presented.  But 
what 's  in  a  name  ?  Perhaps  it  does  not  matter 
whether  it  be  John  or  Henry.  Nor  will  those 
same  six  months  have  to  be  altered,  I  fear,  to 
suit  his  case  as  well.  But  methinks  they  have 
not  passed  entirely  without  intercourse,  provided 
we  have  been  sincere  though  humble  worship 
ers  of  the  same  virtue  in  the  mean  time.  Cer 
tainly  it  is  better  that  we  should  make  ourselves 
quite  sure  of  such  a  communion  as  this  by  the 
only  course  which  is  completely  free  from  suspi 
cion, — the  coincidence  of  two  earnest  and  as 
piring  lives,  —  than  run  the  risk  of  a  disappoint 
ment  by  relying  wholly  or  chiefly  on  so  meagre 
and  uncertain  a  means  as  speech,  whether  writ 
ten  or  spoken,  affords.  How  often,  when  we 
have  been  nearest  each  other  bodily,  have  we 


38  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1840, 

really  been  farthest  off !  Our  tongues  were  the 
witty  foils  with  which  we  fenced  each  other  off. 
Not  that  we  have  not  met  heartily  and  with 
profit  as  members  of  one  family,  but  it  was  a 
small  one  surely,  and  not  that  other  human  fam 
ily.  We  have  met  frankly  and  without  conceal 
ment  ever,  as  befits  those  who  have  an  instinc 
tive  trust  in  one  another,  and  the  scenery  of 
whose  outward  lives  has  been  the  same,  but 
never  as  prompted  by  an  earnest  and  affection 
ate  desire  to  probe  deeper  our  mutual  natures. 
Such  intercourse,  at  least,  if  it  has  ever  been, 
has  not  condescended  to  the  vulgarities  of  oral 
communication,  for  the  ears  are  provided  with 
no  lid  as  the  eye  is,  and  would  not  have  been 
deaf  to  it  in  sleep.  And  now  glad  am  I,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken  in  imagining  that  some  such 
transcendental  inquisitiveness  has  traveled  post 
thither,  —  for,  as  I  observed  before,  where  the 
bolt  hits,  thither  was  it  aimed,  —  any  arbitrary 
direction  notwithstanding. 

Thus  much,  at  least,  our  kindred  tempera 
ment  of  mind  and  body  —  and  long  family-axiky 
—  have  done  for  us,  that  we  already  find  our 
selves  standing  on  a  solid  and  natural  footing 
with  respect  to  one  another,  and  shall  not  have 
to  waste  time  in  the  so  often  unavailing  endeavor 
to  arrive  fairly  at  this  simple  ground. 

Let  us   leave  trifles,  then,  to  accident;  and 


JET.  22.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  39 

politics,  and  finance,  and  such  gossip,  to  the  mo 
ments  when  diet  and  exercise  are  cared  for,  and 
speak  to  each  other  deliberately  as  out  of  one 
infinity  into  another,  —  you  there  in  time  and 
space,  and  I  here.  For  beside  this  relation,  all 
books  and  doctrines  are  no  better  than  gossip  or 
the  turning  of  a  spit. 

Equally  to  you  and  Sophia,  from 

Your  affectionate  brother, 

H.  D.  THOREAU. 

We  come  now  to  the  period  when  Thoreau 
entered  on  more  intimate  relations  with  Emer 
son.  There  was  a  difference  of  fourteen  years 
in  their  ages,  which  had  hitherto  separated  them 
intellectually ;  but  now  the  young  scholar,  thinker, 
and  naturalist  had  so  fast  advanced  that  he 
could  meet  his  senior  on  more  equal  terms,  and 
each  became  essential  to  the  other.  With  all  his 
prudence  and  common  sense,  in  which  he  sur 
passed  most  men,  Emerson  was  yet  lacking  in 
some  practical  faculties ;  while  Thoreau  was  the 
most  practical  and  handy  person  in  all  matters 
of  every-day  life,  —  a  good  mechanic  and  gar 
dener,  methodical  in  his  habits,  observant  and 
kindly  in  the  domestic  world,  and  attractive  to 
children,  who  now  were  important  members  of 
the  Emerson  household.  He  was  therefore  in 
vited  by  Emerson  to  make  his  house  a  home,  — 


40  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1841, 

looking  after  the  garden,  the  business  affairs, 
and  performing  the  office  of  a  younger  brother, 
or  a  grown-up  son.  The  invitation  was  accepted 
in  April,  1841,  and  Thoreau  remained  in  the 
family,  with  frequent  absences,  until  he  went  in 
May,  1843,  to  reside  with  Mr.  William  Emer 
son,  near  New  York,  as  the  tutor  of  his  sons. 
During  these  two  years  much  occurred  of  deep 
moment  to  the  two  friends.  Young  Waldo  Em 
erson,  the  beautiful  boy,  died,  and  just  before, 
John  Thoreau,  the  sunny  and  hopeful  brother, 
whom  Henry  seems  to  have  loved  more  than  any 
human  being.  These  tragedies  brought  the  be 
reaved  nearer  together,  and  gave  to  Mrs.  Emer 
son  in  particular  an  affection  for  Thoreau,  and 
a  trust  in  him  which  made  the  intimate  life  of 
the  household  move  harmoniously,  notwithstand 
ing  the  independent  and  eccentric  genius  of 
Thoreau. 

TO    MRS.    LUCY   BROWN  1   (AT    PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  July  21,  1841. 

DEAR    FRIEND,  —  Don't   think   I   need   any 
prompting   to  write  to   you ;    but   what   tough 

1  Mrs.  Brown  was  the  elder  sister  of  Mrs.  R.  W.  Emerson 
and  of  the  eminent  chemist  and  geologist,  Dr.  Charles  T.  Jack 
son,  of  Plymouth  and  Boston.  She  lived  for  a  time  in  Mrs. 
Thoreau' s  family,  and  Thoreau's  early  verses,  Sic  Vita,  were 
thrown  into  her  window  there  by  the  young-  poet,  wrapped 
round  a  cluster  of  violets. 


JET.  24.]  TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  41 

earthenware  shall  I  put  into  my  packet  to  travel 
over  so  many  hills,  and  thrid  so  many  woods, 
as  lie  between  Concord  and  Plymouth  ?  Thank 
fortune  it  is  all  the  way  down  hill,  so  they  will 
get  safely  carried  ;  and  yet  it  seems  as  if  it  were 
writing  against  time  and  the  sun  to  send  a  letter 
east,  for  no  natural  force  forwards  it.  You 
should  go  dwell  in  the  West,  and  then  I  would 
deluge  you  with  letters,  as  boys  throw  feathers 
into  the  air  to  see  the  wind  take  them.  I  should 
rather  fancy  you  at  evening  dwelling  far  away 
behind  the  serene  curtain  of  the  West,  —  the 
home  of  fair  weather,  —  than  over  by  the  chilly 
sources  of  the  east  wind. 

What  quiet  thoughts  have  you  nowadays 
which  will  float  on  that  east  wind  to  west,  for 
so  we  may  make  our  worst  servants  our  car 
riers,  —  what  progress  made  from  cant  to  can, 
in  practice  and  theory  ?  Under  this  category, 
you  remember,  we  used  to  place  all  our  philoso 
phy.  Do  you  have  any  still,  startling,  well  mo 
ments,  in  which  you  think  grandly,  and  speak 
with  emphasis  ?  Don't  take  this  for  sarcasm, 
for  not  in  a  year  of  the  gods,  I  fear,  will  such 
a  golden  approach  to  plain  speaking  revolve 
again.  But  away  with  such  fears  ;  by  a  few 
miles  of  travel  we  have  not  distanced  each  oth 
er's  sincerity. 

I  grow  savager  and  savager  every  day,  as  if 


42  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1841, 

fed  on  raw  meat,  and  my  tameiiess  is  only  the 
repose  of  untamableness.  I  dream  of  looking 
abroad  summer  and  winter,  with  free  gaze,  from 
some  mountain-side,  while  my  eyes  revolve  in 
an  Egyptian  slime  of  health,  —  I  to  be  nature 
looking  into  nature  with  such  easy  sympathy  as 
the  blue-eyed  grass  in  the  meadow  looks  in  the 
face  of  the  sky.  From  some  such  recess  I 
would  put  forth  sublime  thoughts  daily,  as  the 
plant  puts  forth  leaves.  Now-a-nights  I  go  on 
to  the  hill  to  see  the  sun  set,  as  one  would  go 
home  at  evening ;  the  bustle  of  the  village  has 
run  on  all  day,  and  left  me  quite  in  the  rear ; 
but  I  see  the  sunset,  and  find  that  it  can  wait 
for  my  slow  virtue. 

But  I  forget  that  you  think  more  of  this 
human  nature  than  of  this  nature  I  praise. 
Why  won't  you  believe  that  mine  is  more  human 
than  any  single  man  or  woman  can  be  ?  that  in 
it,  in  the  sunset  there,  are  all  the  qualities  that 
can  adorn  a  household,  and  that  sometimes,  in 
a  fluttering  leaf,  one  may  hear  all  your  Chris 
tianity  preached. 

You  see  how  unskillful  a  letter-writer  I  am, 
thus  to  have  come  to  the  end  of  my  sheet  when 
hardly  arrived  at  the  beginning  of  my  story.  I 
was  going  to  be  soberer,  I  assure  you,  but  now 
have  only  room  to  add,  that  if  the  fates  allot 


2ET.  24.]  TO  MRS.   LUCY  BROWN.  43 

you  a   serene  hour,   don't  fail  to  communicate 
some  of  its  serenity  to  your  friend, 

HENRY  D.  THOEEAU. 

No,  no.  Improve  so  rare  a  gift  for  yourself, 
and  send  me  of  your  leisure. 

TO    MRS.    LUCY    BROWN    (AT    PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  Wednesday  evening1, 
September  8,  [1841.] 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Your  note  came  wafted  to 
my  hand  like  the  first  leaf  of  the  Fall  on  the  Sep 
tember  wind,  and  I  put  only  another  interpreta 
tion  upon  its  lines  than  upon  the  veins  of  those 
which  are  soon  to  be  strewed  around  me.  It  is 
nothing  but  Indian  Summer  here  at  present.  I 
mean  that  any  weather  seems  reserved  expressly 
for  our  late  purposes  whenever  we  happen  to  be 
fulfilling  them.  I  do  not  know  what  right  I 
have  to  so  much  happiness,  but  rather  hold  it 
in  reserve  till  the  time  of  my  desert. 

What  with  the  crickets  and  the  crowing  of 
cocks,  and  the  lowing  of  kiiie,  our  Concord  life 
is  sonorous  enough.  Sometimes  I  hear  the  cock 
bestir  himself  on  his  perch  under  my  feet,  and 
crow  shrilly  before  dawn  ;  and  I  think  I  might 
have  been  born  any  year  for  all  the  phenomena 
I  know.  We  count  sixteen  eggs  daily  now, 
when  arithmetic  will  only  fetch  the  hens  up  to 


44  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1841, 

thirteen ;  but  the  world  is  young,  and  we  wait 
to  see  this  eccentricity  complete  its  period. 

My  verses  on  Friendship  are  already  printed 
in  the  "  Dial ; "  not  expanded,  but  reduced  to 
completeness  by  leaving  out  the  long  lines, 
which  always  have,  or  should  have,  a  longer  or 
at  least  another  sense  than  short  ones. 

Just  now  I  am  in  the  mid-sea  of  verses,  and 
they  actually  rustle  around  me  as  the  leaves 
would  round  the  head  of  Autumnus  himself 
should  he  thrust  it  up  through  some  vales  which 
I  know ;  but,  alas !  many  of  them  are  but 
crisped  and  yellow  leaves  like  his,  I  fear,  and 
will  deserve  no  better  fate  than  to  make  mould 
for  new  harvests.  I  see  the  stanzas  rise  around 
me,  verse  upon  verse,  far  and  near,  like  the 
mountains  from  Agiocochook,  not  all  having  a 
terrestrial  existence  as  yet,  even  as  some  of  them 
may  be  clouds ;  but  I  fancy  I  see  the  gleam  of 
some  Sebago  Lake  and  Silver  Cascade,  at  whose 
well  I  may  drink  one  day.  I  am  as  unfit  for 
any  practical  purpose  —  I  mean  for  the  further 
ance  of  the  world's  ends  —  as  gossamer  for  ship- 
timber  ;  and  I,  who  am  going  to  be  a  pencil- 
maker  to-morrow,1  can  sympathize  with  God 
Apollo,  who  served  King  Admetus  for  a  while 
on  earth.  But  I  believe  he  found  it  for  his  ad- 

1  This  business  of  pencil-making  had  become  the  family 
bread-winner,  and  Henry  Thoreau  worked  at  it  and  kindred 
arts  by  intervals  for  the  next  twenty  years. 


^ET.  24.]  TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  45 

vantage  at  last,  —  as  I  am  sure  I  shall,  though 
I  shall  hold  the  nobler  part  at  least  out  of  the 
service. 

Don't  attach  any  undue  seriousness  to  this 
threnody,  for  I  love  my  fate  to  the  very  core 
and  rind,  and  could  swallow  it  without  paring 
it,  I  think.  You  ask  if  I  have  written  any  more 
poems  ?  Excepting  those  which  Vulcan  is  now 
forging,  I  have  only  discharged  a  few  more  bolts 
into  the  horizon,  —  in  all,  three  hundred  verses, 
—  and  sent  them,  as  I  may  say,  over  the  moun 
tains  to  Miss  Fuller,  who  may  have  occasion  to 
remember  the  old  rhyme  :  — 

"  Three  scipen  gode 
Comen  mid  than  flode 
Three  hundred  cnihten." 

But  these  are  far  more  Vandalic  than  they.     In 
this  narrow  sheet  there  is  not  room  even  for  one 
thought  to  root  itself.     But  you  must  consider 
this  an  odd  leaf  of  a  volume,  and  that  volume 
Your  friend, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

TO    MRS.    LUCY    BROWN    (AT    PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  October  5,  1841. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  send  you  Williams's  *  let 
ter  as  the  last  remembrancer  to  one  of  those 
"  whose  acquaintance  he  had  the  pleasure  to 

1  I.  T.  Williams,  who  had  lived  in  Concord,  but  now  wrote 
from  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 


46  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1841, 

form  while  in  Concord."  It  came  quite  unex 
pectedly  to  me,  but  I  was  very  glad  to  receive 
it,  though  I  hardly  know  whether  my  utmost 
sincerity  and  interest  can  inspire  a  sufficient 
answer  to  it.  I  should  like  to  have  you  send  it 
back  by  some  convenient  opportunity. 

Pray  let  me  know  what  you  are  thinking 
about  any  day,  —  what  most  nearly  concerns 
you.  Last  winter,  you  know,  you  did  more  than 
your  share  of  the  talking,  and  I  did  not  com 
plain  for  want  of  an  opportunity.  Imagine 
your  stove-door  out  of  order,  at  least,  and  then 
while  I  am  fixing  it  you  will  think  of  enough 
things  to  say. 

What  makes  the  value  of  your  life  at  pres 
ent  ?  what  dreams  have  you,  and  what  realiza 
tions?  You  know  there  is  a  high  table-land 
which  not  even  the  east  wind  reaches.  Now 
can't  we  walk  and  chat  upon  its  plane  still,  as  if 
there  were  no  lower  latitudes  ?  Surely  our  two 
destinies  are  topics  interesting  and  grand  enough 
for  any  occasion. 

I  hope  you  have  many  gleams  of  serenity  and 
health,  or,  if  your  body  will  grant  you  no  posi 
tive  respite,  that  you  may,  at  any  rate,  enjoy 
your  sickness  occasionally,  as  much  as  I  used  to 
tell  of.  But  here  is  the  bundle  going  to  be 
done  up,  so  accept  a  "  good-night "  from 

HENRY  D.  THOREATJ. 


arc.  24.]  TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  47 

TO    MRS.    LUCY    BROWN    (AT    PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  March  2,  1842. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  believe  I  have  nothing 
new  to  tell  you,  for  what  was  news  you  have 
learned  from  other  sources.  I  am  much  the 
same  person  that  I  was,  who  should  be  so  much 
better ;  yet  when  I  realize  what  has  transpired, 
and  the  greatness  of  the  part  I  am  unconsciously 
acting,  I  am  thrilled,  and  it  seems  as  if  there 
were  none  in  history  to  match  it. 

Soon  after  John's  death  I  listened  to  a  music- 
box,  and  if,  at  any  time,  that  event  had  seemed 
inconsistent  with  the  beauty  and  harmony  of  the 
universe,  it  was  then  gently  constrained  into  the 
placid  course  of  nature  by  those  steady  notes,  in 
mild  and  unoffended  tone  echoing  far  and  wide 
under  the  heavens.  But  I  find  these  things 
more  strange  than  sad  to  me.  What  right  have 
I  to  grieve,  who  have  not  ceased  to  wonder? 
We  feel  at  first  as  if  some  opportunities  of  kind 
ness  and  sympathy  were  lost,  but  learn  after 
ward  that  any  pure  grief  is  ample  recompense 
for  all.  That  is,  if  we  are  faithful ;  for  a  great 
grief  is  but  sympathy  with  the  soul  that  dis 
poses  events,  and  is  as  natural  as  the  resin  on 
Arabian  trees.  Only  Nature  has  a  right  to 
grieve  perpetually,  for  she  only  is  innocent. 
Soon  the  ice  will  melt,  and  the  blackbirds  sing 


48  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1841, 

along  the  river  which  he  frequented,  as  pleas 
antly  as  ever.  The  same  everlasting  serenity 
will  appear  in  this  face  of  God,  and  we  will  not 
be  sorrowful  if  he  is  not. 

We  are  made  happy  when  reason  can  discover 
no  occasion  for  it.  The  memory  of  some  past 
moments  is  more  persuasive  than  the  experience 
of  present  ones.  There  have  been  visions  of 
such  breadth  and  brightness  that  these  motes 
were  invisible  in  their  light. 

I  do  not  wish  to  see  John  ever  again,  —  I  mean 
him  who  is  dead,  —  but  that  other,  whom  only 
he  woidd  have  wished  to  see,  or  to  be,  of  whom 
he  was  the  imperfect  representative.  For  we  are 
not  what  we  are,  nor  do  we  treat  or  esteem  each 
other  for  such,  but  for  what  we  are  capable  of 
being. 

As  for  Waldo,  he  died  as  the  mist  rises  from 
the  brook,  which  the  sun  will  soon  dart  his  rays 
through.  Do  not  the  flowers  die  every  autumn  ? 
He  had  not  even  taken  root  here.  I  was  not 
startled  to  hear  that  he  was  dead ;  it  seemed  the 
most  natural  event  that  could  happen.  His  fine 
organization  demanded  it,  and  nature  gently 
yielded  its  request.  It  would  have  been  strange 
if  he  had  lived.  Neither  will  nature  manifest 
any  sorrow  at  his  death,  but  soon  the  note  of  the 
lark  will  be  heard  down  in  the  meadow,  and 
fresh  dandelions  will  spring  from  the  old  stocks 
where  he  plucked  them  last  summer. 


55T.25.]          TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  49 

I  have  been  living  ill  of  late,  but  am  now 
doing  better.  How  do  you  live  in  that  Plymouth 
world,  nowadays  ?  1  Please  remember  me  to 
Mary  Russell.  You  must  not  blame  me  if  I  do 
talk  to  the  clouds,  for  I  remain 
Your  friend, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

TO   MRS.    LUCY   BROWN    (AT   PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  January  24,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  other  day  I  wrote  you 
a  letter  to  go  in  Mrs.  Emerson's  bundle,  but,  as 

1  Mrs.  Brown,  to  whom  this  letter  and  several  others  of  the 
years  1841-43  were  written,  lived  by  turns  in  Plymouth,  her 
native  place,  and  in  Concord,  where  she  often  visited  Mrs. 
Emerson  at  the  time  when  Thoreau  was  an  inmate  of  the 
Emerson  household.  In  the  early  part  of  1843  she  was  in 
Plymouth,  and  her  sister  was  sending1  her  newspapers  and 
other  thing's,  from  time  to  time.  The  incident  of  the  music- 
box,  mentioned  above,  occurred  at  the  Old  Manse,  where  Haw 
thorne  was  living-  from  the  summer  of  1842  until  the  spring-  of 
1845,  and  was  often  visited  by  Thoreau  and  Ellery  Channing1. 
In  the  letter  following-,  this  incident  is  recalled,  and  with  it 
the  agreeable  gift  by  Richard  Fuller  (a  younger  brother  of 
Margaret  Fuller  and  of  Ellen,  the  wife  of  Ellery  Channing1, 
who  came  to  reside  in  Concord  about  these  years,  and  soon 
became  Thoreau 's  most  intimate  friend),  which  was  a  music- 
box  for  the  Thoreaus.  They  were  all  fond  of  music,  and 
enjoyed  it  even  in  this  mechanical  form,  —  one  evidence  of  the 
simple  conditions  of  life  in  Concord  then.  The  note  of  thanks 
to  young  Fuller,  who  had  been,  perhaps,  a  pupil  of  Thoreau, 
follows  this  letter  to  Mrs.  Brown,  though  earlier  in  date.  Mary 
Russell  afterwards  became  Mrs.  Marston  Watson. 


50  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

it  seemed  unworthy,  I  did  not  send  it,  and  now, 
to  atone  for  that,  I  am  going  to  send  this,  whether 
it  be  worthy  or  not.  I  will  not  venture  upon 
news,  for,  as  all  the  household  are  gone  to  bed, 
I  cannot  learn  what  has  been  told  you.  Do  you 
read  any  noble  verses  nowadays  ?  or  do  not  verses 
still  seem  noble  ?  For  my  own  part,  they  have 
been  the  only  things  I  remembered,  or  that 
which  occasioned  them,  when  all  things  else 
were  blurred  and  defaced.  All  things  have  put 
on  mourning  but  they ;  for  the  elegy  itself  is 
some  victorious  melody  or  joy  escaping  from  the 
wreck. 

It  is  a  relief  to  read  some  true  book,  wherein 
all  are  equally  dead,  —  equally  alive.  I  think 
the  best  parts  of  Shakespeare  would  only  be 
enhanced  by  the  most  thrilling  and  affecting 
events.  I  have  found  it  so.  And  so  much  the 
more,  as  they  are  not  intended  for  consolation. 

Do  you  think  of  coming  to  Concord  again  ?  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  you.  I  should  be  glad  to 
know  that  I  could  see  you  when  I  would. 

We  always  seem  to  be  living  just  on  the  brink 
of  a  pure  and  lofty  intercourse,  which  would 
make  the  ills  and  trivialness  of  life  ridiculous. 
After  each  little  interval,  though  it  be  but  for 
the  night,  we  are  prepared  to  meet  each  other  as 
gods  and  goddesses. 

I  seem  to  have  dodged  all  my  days  with  one 


JET.  25.]          TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  51 

or  two  persons,  and  lived  upon  expectation,  —  as 
if  the  bud  would  surely  blossom ;  and  so  I  am 
content  to  live. 

What  means  the  fact,  —  which  is  so  common, 
so  universal,  —  that  some  soul  that  has  lost  all 
hope  for  itself  can  inspire  in  another  listening 
soul  an  infinite  confidence  in  it,  even  while  it  is 
expressing  its  despair  ? 

I  am  very  happy  in  my  present  environment, 
though  actually  mean  enough  myself,  and  so,  of 
course,  all  around  me ;  yet,  I  am  sure,  we  for  the 
most  part  are  transfigured  to  one  another,  and  are 
that  to  the  other  which  we  aspire  to  be  ourselves. 
The  longest  course  of  mean  and  trivial  intercourse 
may  not  prevent  my  practicing  this  divine  cour 
tesy  to  my  companion.  Notwithstanding  all  I 
hear  about  brooms,  and  scouring,  and  taxes,  and 
housekeeping,  I  am  constrained  to  live  a  strangely 
mixed  life,  —  as  if  even  Valhalla  might  have  its 
kitchen.  We  are  all  of  us  Apollos  serving  some 
Admetus. 

I  think  I  must  have  some  Muses  in  my  pay 
that  I  know  not  of,  for  certain  musical  wishes  of 
mine  are  answered  as  soon  as  entertained.  Last 
summer  I  went  to  Hawthorne's  suddenly  for  the 
express  purpose  of  borrowing  his  music-box,  and 
almost  immediately  Mrs.  Hawthorne  proposed  to 
lend  it  to  me.  The  other  day  I  said  I  must  go 
to  Mrs.  Barrett's  to  hear  hers,  and,  lo !  straight- 


52  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

way  Richard  Fuller  sent  me  one  for  a  present 
from  Cambridge.  It  is  a  very  good  one.  I 
should  like  to  have  you  hear  it.  I  shall  not 
have  to  employ  you  to  borrow  for  me  now. 
Good-night. 

From  your  affectionate  friend, 

H.  D.  T. 

TO    RICHARD   F.    FULLER    (AT    CAMBRIDGE). 

CONCORD,  January  16,  1843. 

DEAR  RICHARD,  —  I  need  not  thank  you  for 
your  present,  for  I  hear  its  music,  which  seems 
to  be  playing  just  for  us  two  pilgrims  marching 
over  hill  and  dale  of  a  summer  afternoon,  up 
those  long  Bolton  hills  and  by  those  bright  Har 
vard  lakes,  such  as  I  see  in  the  placid  Lucerne 
on  the  lid ;  and  whenever  I  hear  it,  it  will  recall 
happy  hours  passed  with  its  donor. 

When  did  mankind  make  that  foray  into  na 
ture  and  bring  off  this  booty  ?  For  certainly  it 
is  but  history  that  some  rare  virtue  in  remote 
times  plundered  these  strains  from  above  and 
communicated  them  to  men.  Whatever  we  may 
think  of  it,  it  is  a  part  of  the  harmony  of  the 
spheres  you  have  sent  me;  which  has  conde 
scended  to  serve  us  Admetuses,  and  I  hope  I 
may  so  behave  that  this  may  always  be  the  tenor 
of  your  thought  for  me. 

If  you  have  any  strains,  the  conquest  of  your 


jsT.25.]          TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  53 

own  spear  or  quill,  to  accompany  these,  let  the 
winds  waft  them  also  to  me. 

I  write  this  with  one  of  the  "  primaries  "  of 
my  osprey's  wings,  which  I  have  preserved  over 
my  glass  for  some  state  occasion,  and  now  it 
offers. 

Mrs.  Emerson  sends  her  love. 

TO    MRS.    LUCY   BROWN    (AT    PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  Friday  evening-, 
January  25, 1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Mrs.  Emerson  asks  me  to 
write  you  a  letter,  which  she  will  put  into  her 
bundle  to-morrow  along  with  the  "  Tribunes  "  and 
"  Standards,"  and  miscellanies,  and  what  not,  to 
make  an  assortment.  But  what  shall  I  write  ? 
You  live  a  good  way  off,  and  I  don't  know  that 
I  have  anything  which  will  bear  sending  so  far. 
But  I  am  mistaken,  or  rather  impatient  when  I 
say  this,  —  for  we  all  have  a  gift  to  send,  not 
only  when  the  year  begins,  but  as  long  as  inter 
est  and  memory  last.  I  don't  know  whether  you 
have  got  the  many  I  have  sent  you,  or  rather 
whether  you  were  quite  sure  where  they  came 
from.  I  mean  the  letters  I  have  sometimes 
launched  off  eastward  in  my  thought;  but  if 
you  have  been  happier  at  one  time  than  another, 
think  that  then  you  received  them.  But  this 
that  I  now  send  you  is  of  another  sort.  It  will 


54  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

go  slowly,  drawn  by  horses  over  muddy  roads, 
and  lose  much  of  its  little  value  by  the  way. 
You  may  have  to  pay  for  it,  and  it  may  not 
make  you  happy  after  all.  But  what  shall  be 
my  new-year's  gift,  then?  Why,  I  will  send 
you  my  still  fresh  remembrance  of  the  hours  I 
have  passed  with  you  here,  for  I  find  in  the  re 
membrance  of  them  the  best  gift  you  have  left 
to  me.  We  are  poor  and  sick  creatures  at  best ; 
but  we  can  have  well  memories,  and  sound  and 
healthy  thoughts  of  one  another  still,  and  an  in 
tercourse  may  be  remembered  which  was  without 
blur,  and  above  us  both. 

Perhaps  you  may  like  to  know  of  my  estate 
nowadays.  As  usual,  I  find  it  harder  to  account 
for  the  happiness  I  enjoy,  than  for  the  sadness 
which  instructs  me  occasionally.  If  the  little  of 
this  last  which  visits  me  would  only  be  sadder, 
it  would  be  happier.  One  while  I  am  vexed  by 
a  sense  of  meanness  ;  one  while  I  simply  wonder 
at  the  mystery  of  life ;  and  at  another,  and  at 
another,  seem  to  rest  on  my  oars,  as  if  propelled 
by  propitious  breezes  from  I  know  not  what 
quarter.  But  for  the  most  part  I  am  an  idle, 
inefficient,  lingering  (one  term  will  do  as  well 
as  another,  where  all  are  true  and  none  true 
enough)  member  of  the  great  commonwealth, 
who  have  most  need  of  my  own  charity,  —  if  I 
could  not  be  charitable  and  indulgent  to  myself, 


JET.  25.]          TO  MRS.  LUCY  BROWN.  55 

perhaps  as  good  a  subject  for  my  own  satire  as 
any.  You  see  how,  when  I  come  to  talk  of  my 
self,  I  soon  run  dry,  for  I  would  fain  make  that 
a  subject  which  can  be  no  subject  for  me,  at 
least  not  till  I  have  the  grace  to  rule  myself. 

I  do  not  venture  to  say  anything  about  your 
griefs,  for  it  would  be  unnatural  for  me  to  speak 
as  if  I  grieved  with  you,  when  I  think  I  do  not. 
If  I  were  to  see  you,  it  might  be  otherwise.  But 
I  know  you  will  pardon  the  trivialness  of  this 
letter ;  and  I  only  hope  —  as  I  know  that  you 
have  reason  to  be  so  —  that  you  are  still  happier 
than  you  are  sad,  and  that  you  remember  that 
the  smallest  seed  of  faith  is  of  more  worth  than 
the  largest  fruit  of  happiness.  I  have  no  doubt 

that  out  of  S 's  death  you  sometimes  draw 

sweet  consolation,  not  only  for  that,  but  for 
long-standing  griefs,  and  may  find  some  things 
made  smooth  by  it,  which  before  were  rough. 

I  wish  you  would  communicate  with  me,  and 
not  think  me  unworthy  to  know  any  of  your 
thoughts.  Don't  think  me  unkind  because  I 
have  not  written  to  you.  I  confess  it  was  for  so 
poor  a  reason  as  that  you  almost  made  a  princi 
ple  of  not  answering.  I  could  not  speak  truly 
with  this  ugly  fact  in  the  way ;  and  perhaps  I 
wished  to  be  assured,  by  such  evidence  as  you 
could  not  voluntarily  give,  that  it  was  a  kind 
ness.  For  every  glance  at  the  moon,  does  she 


56  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

not  send  me  an  answering  ray?  Noah  would 
hardly  have  done  himself  the  pleasure  to  release 
his  dove,  if  she  had  not  been  about  to  come  back 
to  him  with  tidings  of  green  islands  amid  the 
waste. 

But  these  are  far-fetched  reasons.  I  am  not 
speaking  directly  enough  to  yourself  now ;  so  let 
me  say  directly 

From  your  friend, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

Exactly  when  correspondence  began  between 
Emerson  and  Thoreau  is  not  now  to  be  ascer 
tained,  since  all  the  letters  do  not  seem  to  have 
been  preserved.  Their  acquaintance  opened 
while  Thoreau  was  in  college,  although  Emer 
son  may  have  seen  the  studious  boy  at  the  town 
school  in  Concord,  or  at  the  "Academy"  there, 
while  fitting  for  college.  But  they  only  came  to 
know  each  other  as  sharers  of  the  same  thoughts 
and  aspirations  in  the  autumn  of  1837,  when,  on 
hearing  a  new  lecture  of  Emerson's,  Helen  Tho 
reau  said  to  Mrs.  Brown,  then  living  or  visiting 
in  the  Thoreau  family,  "  Henry  has  a  thought 
very  like  that  in  his  journal  "  (which  he  had 
newly  begun  to  keep).  Mrs.  Brown  desired  to 
see  the  passage,  and  soon  bore  it  to  her  sister, 
Mrs.  Emerson,  whose  husband  saw  it,  and  asked 
Mrs.  Brown  to  bring  her  young  friend  to  see 


am.  25.]         THOREAU  AND  EMERSON.  57 

him.  By  1838  their  new  relation  of  respect  was 
established,  and  Emerson  wrote  to  a  correspond 
ent,  "  I  delight  much  in  my  young  friend,  who 
seems  to  have  as  free  and  erect  a  mind  as  any  I 
have  ever  met."  A  year  later  (Aug.  9, 1839),  he 
wrote  to  Carlyle,  "  I  have  a  young  poet  in  this 
village,  named  Thoreau,  who  writes  the  truest 
verses."  Indeed,  it  was  in  the  years  1839-40 
that  he  seems  to  have  written  the  poems  by  which 
he  is  best  remembered.  Thoreau  told  me  in  his 
last  illness  that  he  had  written  many  verses  and 
destroyed  many,  —  this  fact  he  then  regretted, 
although  he  had  done  it  at  the  instance  of  Em 
erson,  who  did  not  praise  them.  But,  said  he, 
"  they  may  have  been  better  than  we  thought 
them,  twenty  years  ago." 

The  earliest  note  which  I  find  from  Emerson 
to  Thoreau  bears  no  date,  but  must  have  been 
written  before  1842,  for  at  no  later  time  could 
the  persons  named  in  it  have  visited  Concord 
together.  Most  likely  it  was  in  the  summer  of 
1840,  and  to  the  same  date  do  I  assign  a  note 
asking  Henry  to  join  the  Emersons  in  a  party 
to  the  Cliffs  (scopuli  Pulchri-Portus),  and  to 
bring  his  flute,  —  for  on  that  pastoral  reed  Tho 
reau  played  sweetly.  The  first  series  of  letters 
from  Thoreau  to  Emerson  begins  early  in  1843, 
about  the  time  the  letters  just  given  were  writ 
ten  to  Mrs.  Brown.  In  the  first  he  gives  thanks 


58  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

to  Emerson  for  the  hospitality  of  his  house  in 
the  two  preceding  years ;  a  theme  to  which  he 
returned  a  few  months  later,  —  for  I  doubt  not 
the  lovely  sad  poem  called  "  The  Departure  " 
was  written  at  Staten  Island  soon  after  his  leav 
ing  the  Emerson  house  in  Concord  for  the  more 
stately  but  less  congenial  residence  of  William 
Emerson  at  Staten  Island,  whither  he  betook 
himself  in  May,  1843.  This  first  letter,  how 
ever,  was  sent  from  the  Concord  home  to  Waldo 
Emerson  at  Staten  Island,  or  perhaps  in  New 
York,  where  he  was  that  winter  giving  a  course 
of  lectures. 

In  explanation  of  the  passages  concerning 
Bronson  Alcott,  in  this  letter,  it  should  be  said 
that  he  was  then  living  at  the  Hosmer  Cottage, 
in  Concord,  with  his  English  friends,  Charles 
Lane  and  Henry  Wright,  and  that  he  had  re 
fused  to  pay  a  tax  in  support  of  what  he  consid 
ered  an  unjust  government,  and  was  arrested  by 
the  constable,  Sam  Staples,  in  consequence. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT   NEW   YORK). 

CONCORD,  January  24,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  best  way  to  correct  a 
mistake  is  to  make  it  right.  I  had  not  spoken 
of  writing  to  you,  but  as  you  say  you  are  about 
to  write  to  me  when  you  get  my  letter,  I  make 
haste  on  my  part  in  order  to  get  yours  the  sooner. 


asT.25.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  59 

I  don't  well  know  what  to  say  to  earn  the  forth 
coming  epistle,  unless  that  Edith  takes  rapid 
strides  in  the  arts  and  sciences  —  or  music  and 
natural  history  —  as  well  as  over  the  carpet; 
that  she  says  "  papa  "  less  and  less  abstractedly 
every  day,  looking  in  my  face,  —  which  may 
sound  like  a  Ram  des  Vackes  to  yourself.  And 
Ellen  declares  every  morning  that  "papa  may 
come  home  to-night ;  "  and  by  and  by  it  will 
have  changed  to  such  positive  statement  as  that 
"  papa  came  home  larks  night." 

Elizabeth  Hoar  still  flits  about  these  clearings, 
and  I  meet  her  here  and  there,  and  in  all  houses 
but  her  own,  but  as  if  I  were  not  the  less  of  her 
family  for  all  that.  I  have  made  slight  acquaint 
ance  also  with  one  Mrs.  Lidian  Emerson,  who 
almost  persuades  me  to  be  a  Christian,  but  I 
fear  I  as  often  lapse  into  heathenism.  Mr. 
O'Sullivan a  was  here  three  days.  I  met  him  at 
the  Atheneum  [Concord],  and  went  to  Haw 
thorne's  [at  the  Old  Manse]  to  tea  with  him. 
He  expressed  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  your 
poems,  and  wished  me  to  give  him  a  list  of 
them,  which  I  did ;  he  saying  he  did  not  know 
but  he  should  notice  them.  He  is  a  rather  puny- 
looking  man,  and  did  not  strike  me.  We  had 
nothing  to  say  to  one  another,  and  therefore  we 

1  Editor  of  the  Democratic  Review,  for  which  Hawthorne, 
Emerson,  Thoreau,  and  Whittier  all  wrote,  more  or  less. 


60  YEARS  OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

said  a  great  deal !  He,  however,  made  a  point 
of  asking  me  to  write  for  his  Keview,  which  I 
shall  be  glad  to  do.  He  is,  at  any  rate,  one  of 
the  not-bad,  but  does  not  by  any  means  take  you 
by  storm,  —  no,  nor  by  calm,  which  is  the  best 
way.  He  expects  to  see  you  in  New  York.  After 
tea  I  carried  him  and  Hawthorne  to  the  Lyceum. 

Mr.  Alcott  has  not  altered  much  since  you 
left.  I  think  you  will  find  him  much  the  same 
sort  of  person.  With  Mr.  Lane  I  have  had  one 
regular  chat  a  la  George  Minott,  which  of  course 
was  greatly  to  our  mutual  grati-  and  edification  ; 
and,  as  two  or  three  as  regular  conversations 
have  taken  place  since,  I  fear  there  may  have 
been  a  precession  of  the  equinoxes.  Mr.  Wright, 
according  to  the  last  accounts,  is  in  Lynn,  with 
uncertain  aims  and  prospects,  —  maturing  slowly, 
perhaps,  as  indeed  are  all  of  us.  I  suppose  they 
have  told  you  how  near  Mr.  Alcott  went  to  the 
jail,  but  I  can  add  a  good  anecdote  to  the  rest. 
When  Staples  came  to  collect  Mrs.  Ward's  taxes, 
my  sister  Helen  asked  him  what  he  thought  Mr. 
Alcott  meant,  —  what  his  idea  was,  —  and  he 
answered,  "  I  vum,  I  believe  it  was  nothing  but 
principle,  for  I  never  heerd  a  man  talk  hon- 
ester." 

There  was  a  lecture  011  Peace  by  a  Mr.  Spear 
(ought  he  not  to  be  beaten  into  a  ploughshare  ?), 
the  same  evening,  and,  as  the  gentlemen,  Lane 


asT.25.]  TO  R.    W.  EMERSON.  61 

and  Alcott,  dined  at  our  house  while  the  matter 
was  in  suspense,  —  that  is,  while  the  constable 
was  waiting  for  his  receipt  from  the  jailer,  — 
we  there  settled  it  that  we,  that  is,  Lane  and 
myself,  perhaps,  should  agitate  the  State  while 
Winkelried  lay  in  durance.  But  when,  over  the 
audience,  I  saw  our  hero's  head  moving  in  the 
free  air  of  the  Universalist  church,  my  fire  all 
went  out,  and  the  State  was  safe  as  far  as  I  was 
concerned.  But  Lane,  it  seems,  had  cogitated 
and  even  written  on  the  matter,  in  the  afternoon, 
and  so,  out  of  courtesy,  taking  his  point  of  de 
parture  from  the  Spear-man's  lecture,  he  drove 
gracefully  in  medias  res,  and  gave  the  affair  a 
very  good  setting  out ;  but,  to  spoil  all,  our  mar 
tyr  very  characteristically,  but,  as  artists  would 
say,  in  bad  taste,  brought  up  the  rear  with  a 
"My  Prisons,"  which  made  us  forget  Silvio 
Pellico  himself. 

Mr.  Lane  wishes  me  to  ask  you  to  see  if  there 
is  anything  for  him  in  the  New  York  office,  and 
pay  the  charges.  Will  you  tell  me  what  to  do 
with  Mr.  [Theodore]  Parker,  who  was  to  lecture 
February  15th  ?  Mrs.  Emerson  says  my  letter 
is  written  instead  of  one  from  her. 

At  the  end  of  this  strange  letter  I  will  not 
write  —  what  alone  I  had  to  say  —  to  thank  you 
and  Mrs.  Emerson  for  your  long  kindness  to  me. 
It  would  be  more  ungrateful  than  my  constant 


62  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

thought.  I  have  been  your  pensioner  for  nearly 
two  years,  and  still  left  free  as  under  the  sky. 
It  has  been  as  free  a  gift  as  the  sun  or  the  sum 
mer,  though  I  have  sometimes  molested  you  with 
my  mean  acceptance  of  it,  —  I  who  have  failed 
to  render  even  those  slight  services  of  the  liand 
which  would  have  been  for  a  sign  at  least ;  and, 
by  the  fault  of  my  nature,  have  failed  of  many 
better  and  higher  services.  But  I  will  not  trou 
ble  you  with  this,  but  for  once  thank  you  as  well 
as  Heaven. 

Your  friend,  H.  D.  T. 

Mrs.  Lidian  Emerson,  the  wife  of  R.  W.  Em 
erson,  and  her  two  daughters,  Ellen  and  Edith, 
are  named  in  this  first  letter,  and  will  be  fre 
quently  mentioned  in  the  correspondence.  At 
this  date,  Edith,  now  Mrs.  W.  H.  Eorbes,  was 
fourteen  months  old.  Mr.  Emerson's  mother, 
Madam  Ruth  Emerson,  was  also  one  of  the 
household,  which  had  for  a  little  more  than 
seven  years  occupied  the  well-known  house  un 
der  the  trees,  east  of  the  village. 

TO    R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT    NEW    YORK). 

CONCORD,  February  10,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  stolen  one  of  your 
own  sheets  to  write  you  a  letter  upon,  and  I 
hope,  with  two  layers  of  ink,  to  turn  it  into  a 


MT.  25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  63 

comforter.  If  you  like  to  receive  a  letter  from 
me,  too,  I  am  glad,  for  it  gives  me  pleasure  to 
write.  But  don't  let  it  come  amiss;  it  must 
fall  as  harmlessly  as  leaves  settle  on  the  land 
scape.  I  will  tell  you  what  we  are  doing  this 
now.  Supper  is  done,  and  Edith  —  the  dessert, 
perhaps  more  than  the  dessert  —  is  brought  in, 
or  even  comes  in  per  se;  and  round  she  goes, 
now  to  this  altar,  and  then  to  that,  with  her 
monosyllabic  invocation  of  "  oc,"  "  oc."  It 
makes  me  think  of  "  Langue  d'oc."  She  must 
belong  to  that  province.  And  like  the  gypsies 
she  talks  a  language  of  her  own  while  she  un 
derstands  ours.  While  she  jabbers  Sanscrit, 
Parsee,  Pehlvi,  say  "  Edith  go  bah !  "  and  "  bah  " 
it  is.  No  intelligence  passes  between  us.  She 
knows.  It  is  a  capital  joke,  —  that  is  the  reason 
she  smiles  so.  How  well  the  secret  is  kept !  she 
never  descends  to  explanation.  It  is  not  buried 
like  a  common  secret,  bolstered  up  on  two  sides, 
but  by  an  eternal  silence  on  the  one  side,  at 
least.  It  has  been  long  kept,  and  comes  in  from 
the  unexplored  horizon,  like  a  blue  mountain 
range,  to  end  abruptly  at  our  door  one  day. 
(Don't  stumble  at  this  steep  simile.)  And  now 
she  studies  the  heights  and  depths  of  nature 

On  shoulders  whirled  in  some  eccentric  orbit 
Just  by  old  Psestum's  temples  and  the  perch 
Where  Time  doth  plume  his  wings. 


64  YEARS  OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

And  now  she  runs  the  race  over  the  carpet,  while 
all  Olympia  applauds,  —  inamma,  grandma,  and 
uncle,  good  Grecians  all,  —  and  that  dark-hued 
barbarian,  Partheanna  Parker,  whose  shafts  go 
through  and  through,  not  backward  !  Grand 
mamma  smiles  over  all,  and  mamma  is  wonder 
ing  what  papa  would  say,  should  she  descend  on 
Carlton  House  some  day.  "  Larks  night "  's 
abed,  dreaming  of  "pleased  faces"  far  away. 
But  now  the  trumpet  sounds,  the  games  are 
over ;  some  Hebe  comes,  and  Edith  is  trans 
lated.  I  don't  know  where  ;  it  must  be  to  some 
cloud,  for  I  never  was  there. 

Query :  what  becomes  of  the  answers  Edith 
thinks,  but  cannot  express  ?  She  really  gives 
you  glances  which  are  before  this  world  was. 
You  can't  feel  any  difference  of  age,  except  that 
you  have  longer  legs  and  arms. 

Mrs.  Emerson  said  I  must  tell  you  about  do 
mestic  affairs,  when  I  mentioned  that  I  was  going 
to  write.  Perhaps  it  will  inform  you  of  the  state 
of  all  if  I  only  say  that  I  am  well  and  happy 
in  your  house  here  in  Concord. 

Your  friend,  HENRY. 

Don't  forget  to  tell  us  what  to  do  with  Mr. 
Parker  when  you  write  next.  I  lectured  this 
week.  It  was  as  bright  a  night  as  you  could 
wish.  I  hope  there  were  no  stars  thrown  away 
on  the  occasion. 


MT.  25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  65 

[A  part  of  the  same  letter,  though  bearing 
a  date  two  days  later,  and  written  in  a  wholly 
different  style,  as  from  one  sage  to  another,  is 
this  postscript.] 

February  12,  1843. 

DEAR  FEIEND,  —  As  the  packet  still  tarries, 
I  will  send  you  some  thoughts,  which  I  have 
lately  relearned,  as  the  latest  public  and  private 
news. 

How  mean  are  our  relations  to  one  another ! 
Let  us  pause  till  they  are  nobler.  A  little  silence, 
a  little  rest,  is  good.  It  would  be  sufficient  em 
ployment  only  to  cultivate  true  ones. 

The  richest  gifts  we  can  bestow  are  the  least 
marketable.  We  hate  the  kindness  which  we 
understand.  A  noble  person  confers  no  such 
gift  as  his  whole  confidence :  none  so  exalts  the 
giver  and  the  receiver ;  it  produces  the  truest 
gratitude.  Perhaps  it  is  only  essential  to  friend 
ship  that  some  vital  trust  should  have  been  re 
posed  by  the  one  in  the  other.  I  feel  addressed 
and  probed  even  to  the  remote  parts  of  my  being 
when  one  nobly  shows,  even  in  trivial  things,  an 
implicit  faith  in  me.  When  such  divine  com 
modities  are  so  near  and  cheap,  how  strange  that 
it  should  have  to  be  each  day's  discovery  !  A 
threat  or  a  curse  may  be  forgotten,  but  this  mild 
trust  translates  me.  I  am  no  more  of  this  earth ; 


66  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

it  acts  dynamically;  it  changes  my  very  sub 
stance.  I  cannot  do  what  before  I  did.  I  can 
not  be  what  before  I  was.  Other  chains  may 
be  broken,  but  in  the  darkest  night,  in  the  re 
motest  place,  I  trail  this  thread.  Then  things 
cannot  happen.  What  if  God  were  to  confide 
in  us  for  a  moment !  Should  we  not  then  be 
gods? 

How  subtle  a  thing  is  this  confidence !  No 
thing  sensible  passes  between  ;  never  any  conse 
quences  are  to  be  apprehended  should  it  be  mis 
placed.  Yet  something  has  transpired.  A  new 
behavior  springs  ;  the  ship  carries  new  ballast 
in  her  hold.  A  sufficiently  great  and  generous 
trust  could  never  be  abused.  It  should  be  cause 
to  lay  down  one's  life,  —  which  would  not  be  to 
lose  it.  Can  there  be  any  mistake  up  there? 
Don't  the  gods  know  where  to  invest  their 
wealth  ?  Such  confidence,  too,  would  be  recip 
rocal.  When  one  confides  greatly  in  you,  he 
will  feel  the  roots  of  an  equal  trust  fastening 
themselves  in  him.  When  such  trust  has  been 
received  or  reposed,  we  dare  not  speak,  hardly 
to  see  each  other ;  our  voices  sound  harsh  and 
untrustworthy.  We  are  as  instruments  which 
the  Powers  have  dealt  with.  Through  what 
straits  would  we  not  carry  this  little  burden  of 
a  magnanimous  trust !  Yet  no  harm  could  pos 
sibly  come,  but  simply  faithlessness.  Not  a 


JET.  25.]  TO  R.   W.   EMERSON.  67 

feather,  not  a  straw,  is  intrusted  ;  that  packet 
is  empty.  It  is  only  committed  to  us,  and,  as  it 
were,  all  things  are  committed  to  us. 

The  kindness  I  have  longest  remembered  has 
been  of  this  sort,  —  the  sort  unsaid  ;  so  far  be 
hind  the  speaker's  lips  that  almost  it  already 
lay  in  my  heart.  It  did  not  have  far  to  go  to 
be  communicated.  The  gods  cannot  misunder 
stand,  man  cannot  explain.  We  communicate 
like  the  burrows  of  foxes,  in  silence  and  dark 
ness,  under  ground.  We  are  undermined  by 
faith  and  love.  How  much  more  full  is  Nature 
where  we  think  the  empty  space  is  than  where 
we  place  the  solids  !  —  full  of  fluid  influences. 
Should  we  ever  communicate  but  by  these  ?  The 
spirit  abhors  a  vacuum  more  than  Nature. 
There  is  a  tide  which  pierces  the  pores  of  the 
air.  These  aerial  rivers,  let  us  not  pollute  their 
currents.  What  meadows  do  they  course 
through  ?  How  many  fine  mails  there  are 
which  traverse  their  routes !  He  is  privileged 
who  gets  his  letter  franked  by  them. 

I  believe  these  things. 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

Emerson  replied  to  these  letters  in  two  epis 
tles  of  dates  from  February  4  to  12,  1843,  — • 
in  the  latter  asking  Thoreau  to  aid  him  in  edit 
ing  the  April  number  of  the  "  Dial,"  of  which 


68  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

he  had  taken  charge.  Among  other  things, 
Emerson  desired  a  manuscript  of  Charles  Lane, 
Alcott's  English  friend,  to  be  sent  to  him  in 
New  York,  where  he  was  detained  several  weeks 
by  his  lectures.  He  added :  "  Have  we  no 
news  from  Wheeler  ?  Has  Bartlett  none  ? " 
Of  these  persons,  the  first,  Charles  Stearns 
Wheeler,  a  college  classmate  of  Thoreau,  and 
later  Greek  tutor  in  the  college,  had  gone  to 
Germany,  —  where  he  died  the  next  summer,  — 
and  was  contributing  to  the  quarterly  "  Dial." 
Robert  Bartlett,  of  Plymouth,  a  townsman  of 
Mrs.  Emerson,  was  Wheeler's  intimate  friend, 
with  whom  he  corresponded.1  To  this  editorial 

1  An  interesting  fact  in  connection  with  Thoreau  and 
Wheeler  (whose  home  was  in  Lincoln,  four  miles  southeast  of 
Concord)  is  related  by  Ellery  Channing  in  a  note  to  me.  It 
seems  that  Wheeler  had  built  for  himself,  or  hired  from  a 
farmer,  a  rough  woodland  study  near  Flint's  Pond,  half  way 
from  Lincoln  to  Concord,  which  he  occupied  for  a  short  time 
in  1841-42,  and  where  Thoreau  and  Channing  visited  him. 
Mr.  Channing  wrote  me  in  1883  :  "  Stearns  Wheeler  built  a 
'shanty  '  on  Flint's  Pond  for  the  purpose  of  economy,  for  pur 
chasing  Greek  books  and  going  abroad  to  study.  Whether 
Mr.  Thoreau  assisted  him  to  build  this  shanty  I  cannot  say, 
but  I  think  he  may  have  ;  also  that  he  spent  six  weeks  with 
him  there.  As  Mr.  Thoreau  was  not  too  original  and  inven 
tive  to  follow  the  example  of  others,  if  good  to  him,  it  is  very 
probable  this  undertaking  of  Stearns  Wheeler,  whom  he  re 
garded  (as  I  think  I  have  heard  him  say)  a  heroic  character, 
suggested  his  own  experiment  on  Walden.  I  believe  I  visited 
this  shanty  with  Mr.  Thoreau.  It  was  very  plain,  with  bunks 
of  straw,  and  built  in  the  Irish  manner.  I  think  Mr.  Wheeler 


^T.  25.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  69 

request  Thoreau,  who  was  punctuality  itself,  re 
plied  at  once. 

TO   E.    W.    EMERSON    (AT   NEW   YORK). 

CONCORD,  February  15,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  got  your  letters,  one 
yesterday  and  the  other  to-day,  and  they  have 
made  me  quite  happy.  As  a  packet  is  to  go  in 
the  morning,  I  will  give  you  a  hasty  account  of 
the  "  Dial."  I  called  on  Mr.  Lane  this  after 
noon,  and  brought  away,  together  with  an  abun 
dance  of  good-will,  first,  a  bulky  catalogue  of 
books  without  commentary,  —  some  eight  hun 
dred,  I  think  he  told  me,  with  an  introduction 
filling  one  sheet,  —  ten  or  a  dozen  pages,  say, 
though  I  have  only  glanced  at  them ;  second, 

was  as  good  a  mechanic  as  Mr.  Thoreau,  and  built  this  shanty 
for  his  own  use.  The  object  of  these  two  experiments  was 
quite  unlike,  except  in  the  common  purpose  of  economy.  It 
seems  to  me  highly  probable  that  Mr.  Wheeler's  experiment 
suggested  Mr.  Thoreau's,  as  he  was  a  man  he  almost  wor 
shiped.  But  I  could  not  understand  what  relation  Mr.  Low 
ell  had  to  this  fact,  if  it  be  one.  Students,  in  all  parts  of  the 
earth,  have  pursued  a  similar  course  from  motives  of  economy, 
and  to  carry  out  some  special  study.  Mr.  Thoreau  wished  to 
study  birds,  flowers,  and  the  stone  age,  just  as  Mr.  Wheeler 
wished  to  study  Greek.  And  Mr.  Hotham  came  next  from 
just  the  same  motive  of  economy  (necessity)  and  to  study  the 
Bible.  The  prudential  sides  of  all  three  were  the  same." 
Mr.  Hotham  was  the  young  theological  student  who  dwelt  in 
a  cabin  by  Walden  in  1809-70. 


70  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

a  review  —  twenty-five  or  thirty  printed  pages 
—  of  Conversations  on  the  Gospels,  Record  of 
a  School,  and  Spiritual  Culture,  with  rather 
copious  extracts.  However,  it  is  a  good  sub 
ject,  and  Lane  says  it  gives  him  satisfaction. 
I  will  give  it  a  faithful  reading  directly.  [These 
were  Alcott's  publications,  reviewed  by  Lane.] 
And  now  I  come  to  the  little  end  of  the  horn ; 
for  myself,  I  have  brought  along  the  Minor 
Greek  Poets,  and  will  mine  there  for  a  scrap  or 
two,  at  least.  As  for  Etzler,  I  don't  remember 
any  "  rude  and  snappish  speech  "  that  you  made, 
and  if  you  did  it  must  have  been  longer  than 
anything  I  had  written  ;  however,  here  is  the 
book  still,  and  I  will  try.  Perhaps  I  have  some 
few  scraps  in  my  Journal  which  you  may  choose 
to  print.  The  translation  of  the  ^Eschylus  I 
should  like  very  well  to  continue  anon,  if  it 
should  be  worth  the  while.  As  for  poetry,  I 
have  not  remembered  to  write  any  for  some 
time ;  it  has  quite  slipped  my  mind ;  but  some 
times  I  think  I  hear  the  mutterings  of  the  thun 
der.  Don't  you  remember  that  last  summer  we 
heard  a  low,  tremulous  sound  in  the  woods  and 
over  the  hills,  and  thought  it  was  partridges  or 
rocks,  and  it  proved  to  be  thunder  gone  down 
the  river  ?  But  sometimes  it  was  over  Wayland 
way,  and  at  last  burst  over  our  heads.  So  we  '11 
not  despair  by  reason  of  the  drought.  You  see 


jsT.25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  71 

it  takes  a  good  many  words  to  supply  the  place 
of  one  deed ;  a  hundred  lines  to  a  cobweb,  and 
but  one  cable  to  a  man-of-war.  The  "  Dial  " 
case  needs  to  be  reformed  in  many  particulars. 
There  is  no  news  from  Wheeler,  none  from 
Bartlett. 

They  all  look  well  and  happy  in  this  house, 
where  it  gives  me  much  pleasure  to  dwell. 

Yours  in  haste,  HENRY. 

P.  S. 

Wednesday  evening,  February  16. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  time  to  write  a  few 
words  about  the  "  Dial."  I  have  just  received 
the  three  first  signatures,  which  do  not  yet  com 
plete  Lane's  piece.  He  will  place  five  hundred 
copies  for  sale  at  Munroe's  bookstore.  Wheeler 
has  sent  you  two  full  sheets  —  more  about  the 
German  universities  —  and  proper  names,  which 
will  have  to  be  printed  in  alphabetical  order  for 
convenience ;  what  this  one  has  done,  that  one 
is  doing,  and  the  other  intends  to  do.  Ham- 
mer-Purgstall  (Von  Hammer)  may  be  one,  for 
aught  I  know.  However,  there  are  two  or 
three  tilings  in  it,  as  well  as  names.  One  of 
the  books  of  Herodotus  is  discovered  to  be  out 
of  place.  He  says  something  about  having  sent 
to  Lowell,  by  the  last  steamer,  a  budget  of  lit 
erary  news,  which  he  will  have  communicated  to 


72  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE,  [1843, 

you  ere  this.  Mr.  Alcott  has  a  letter  from  He- 
raud,1  and  a  book  written  by  him,  —  the  Life 
of  Savonarola,  —  which  he  wishes  to  have  re- 
published  here.  Mr.  Lane  will  write  a  notice 
»of  it.  (The  latter  says  that  what  is  in  the  New 
York  post-office  may  be  directed  to  Mr.  Alcott.) 
Miss  [Elizabeth]  Peabody  has  sent  a  "  Notice 
to  the  readers  of  the  '  Dial,' "  which  is  not 
good. 

Mr.  Chapin  lectured  this  evening,  and  so 
rhetorically  that  I  forgot  my  duty  and  heard 
very  little.  I  find  myself  better  than  I  have 
been,  and  am  meditating  some  other  method  of 
paying  debts  than  by  lectures  and  writing,— 
which  will  only  do  to  talk  about.  If  anything 
of  that  "  other  "  sort  should  come  to  your  ears 
in  New  York,  will  you  remember  it  for  me  ? 

Excuse  this  scrawl,  which  I  have  written  over 
the  embers  in  the  dining-room.     I  hope  that  you 
live  on  good  terms  with  yourself  and  the  gods. 
Yours  in  haste,  HENRY. 

Mr.  Lane  and  his  lucubrations  proved  to  be 
tough  subjects,  and  the  next  letter  has  more  to 
say  about  them  and  the  "  Dial."  Lane  had 
undertaken  to  do  justice  to  Mr.  Alcott  and  his 
books,  as  may  still  be  read  in  the  pages  of  that 

1  An  English  critic  and  poetaster.     See  Memoir  of  Bronson 
Alcott,  pp.  292-318. 


•jsT.25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  73 

April   number  of  the  Transcendentalist   quar 
terly. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT   NEW   YORK). 

CONCORD,  February  20,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  read  Mr.  Lane's 
review,  and  can  say,  speaking  for  this  world  and 
for  fallen  man,  that  "it  is  good  for  us."  As 
they  say  in  geology,  time  never  fails,  there  is 
always  enough  of  it,  so  I  may  say,  criticism 
never  fails ;  but  if  I  go  and  read  elsewhere,  I 
say  it  is  good,  —  far  better  than  any  notice  Mr. 
Alcott  has  received,  or  is  likely  to  receive  from 
another  quarter.  It  is  at  any  rate  "  the  other 
side,"  which  Boston  needs  to  hear.  I  do  not 
send  it  to  you,  because  time  is  precious,  and 
because  I  think  you  would  accept  it,  after  all. 
After  speaking  briefly  of  the  fate  of  Goethe 
and  Carlyle  in  their  own  countries,  he  says, 
"  To  Emerson  in  his  own  circle  is  but  slowly 
accorded  a  worthy  response ;  and  Alcott,  al 
most  utterly  neglected,"  etc.  I  will  strike  out 
what  relates  to  yourself,  and  correcting  some 
verbal  faults,  send  the  rest  to  the  printer  with 
Lane's  initials. 

The  catalogue  needs  amendment,  I  think.  It 
wants  completeness  now.  It  should  consist  of 
such  books  only  as  they  would  tell  Mr.  [F.  H.] 
Hedge  and  [Theodore]  Parker  they  had  got ; 


74  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

omitting  the  Bible,  the  classics,  and  much  be 
sides,  —  for  there  the  incompleteness  begins. 
But  you  will  be  here  in  season  for  this. 

It  is  frequently  easy  to  make  Mr.  Lane  more 
universal  and  attractive ;  to  write,  for  instance, 
"  universal  ends "  instead  of  "  the  universal 
end,"  just  as  we  pull  open  the  petals  of  a  flower 
with  our  fingers  where  they  are  confined  by  its 
own  sweets.  Also  he  had  better  not  say  "  books 
designed  for  the  nucleus  of  a  Home  University," 
until  he  makes  that  word  "  home "  ring  solid 
and  universal  too.  This  is  that  abominable  dia 
lect,  lie  had  just  given  me  a  notice  of  George 
Bradford's  Fenelon  for  the  Eecord  of  the 
Months,  and  speaks  of  extras  of  the  Eeview  and 
Catalogue,  if  they  are  printed,  —  even  a  hun 
dred,  or  thereabouts.  How  shall  this  be  ar 
ranged  ?  Also  he  wishes  to  use  some  manu 
scripts  of  his  which  are  in  your  possession,  if 
you  do  not.  Can  I  get  them  ? 

I  think  of  no  news  to  tell  you.  It  is  a  serene 
summer  day  here,  all  above  the  snow.  The  hens 
steal  their  nests,  and  I  steal  their  eggs  still,  as 
formerly.  This  is  what  I  do  with  the  hands. 
Ah,  labor,  —  it  is  a  divine  institution,  and  con 
versation  with  many  men  and  hens. 

Do  not  think  that  my  letters  require  as  many 
special  answers.  I  get  one  as  often  as  you  write 
to  Concord.  Concord  inquires  for  you  daily,  as 


JET.  25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  75 

do  all  the  members  of  this  house.  You  must 
make  haste  home  before  we  have  settled  all  the 
great  questions,  for  they  are  fast  being  disposed 
of.  But  I  must  leave  room  for  Mrs.  Emerson. 

Mrs.  Emerson's  letter,  after  speaking  of  other 
matters,  gave  a  lively  sketch  of  Thoreau  at  one 
of  Alcott's  Conversations  in  her  house,  which 
may  be  quoted  as  illustrating  the  young  Nature- 
worshiper's  position  at  the  time,  and  the  more 
humane  and  socialistic  spirit  of  Alcott  and  Lane, 
who  were  soon  to  leave  Concord  for  their  exper 
iment  of  communistic  life  at  "  Fruitlands,"  in 
the  rural  town  of  Harvard. 

"  Last  evening  we  had  the  '  Conversation,' 
though,  owing  to  the  bad  weather,  but  few  at 
tended.  The  subjects  were:  What  is  Prophecy? 
Who  is  a  Prophet?  and  The  Love  of  Nature. 
Mr.  Lane  decided,  as  for  all  time  and  the  race, 
that  this  same  love  of  nature  —  of  which  Henry 
[Thoreau]  was  the  champion,  and  Elizabeth 
Hoar  and  Lidian  (though  L.  disclaimed  possess 
ing  it  herself)  his  faithful  squiresses  —  that  this 
love  was  the  most  subtle  and  dangerous  of  sins ; 
a  refined  idolatry,  much  more  to  be  dreaded  than 
gross  wickednesses,  because  the  gross  sinner 
would  be  alarmed  by  the  depth  of  his  degrada 
tion,  and  come  up  from  it  in  terror,  but  the  un 
happy  idolaters  of  Nature  were  deceived  by  the 


76  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

refined  quality  of  their  sin,  and  would  be  the  last 
to  enter  the  kingdom.  Henry  frankly  affirmed 
to  both  the  wise  men  that  they  were  wholly  defi 
cient  in  the  faculty  in  question,  and  therefore 
could  not  judge  of  it.  And  Mr.  Alcott  as 
frankly  answered  that  it  was  because  they  went 
beyond  the  mere  material  objects,  and  were  filled 
with  spiritual  love  and  perception  (as  Mr.  T. 
was  not),  that  they  seemed  to  Mr.  Thoreau  not 
to  appreciate  outward  nature.  I  am  very  heavy, 
and  have  spoiled  a  most  excellent  story.  I  have 
given  you  no  idea  of  the  scene,  which  was  ineffa 
bly  comic,  though  it  made  no  laugh  at  the  time  5 
I  scarcely  laughed  at  it  myself,  —  too  deeply 
amused  to  give  the  usual  sign.  Henry  was  brave 
and  noble ;  well  as  I  have  always  liked  him,  he 
still  grows  upon  me." 

Before  going  to  Staten  Island  in  May,  1843, 
Thoreau  answered  a  letter  from  the  same  Rich 
ard  Fuller  who  had  made  him  the  musical  gift 
in  the  previous  winter.  He  was  at  Harvard 
College,  and  desired  to  know  something  of  Tho 
reau' s  pursuits  there,  —  concerning  which  Chan- 
ning  says  in  his  Life : l  "  He  was  a  respectable 

1  ThoreaUj  the  Poet-Naturalist.  With  Memorial  Verses.  By 
William  Ellery  Channing  (Boston:  Roberts  Brothers,  1873). 
This  volume,  in  some  respects  the  best  biography  of  Thoreau, 
is  now  quite  rare.  Among  the  Memorial  Verses  are  those 
written  by  Channing  for  his  friend's  funeral ;  at  which,  also, 
Mr.  Alcott  read  Thoreau's  poem  of  Sympathy. 


J3T.25.]          TO  RICHARD  F.   FULLER.  11 

student,  having  done  there  a  bold  reading  in 
English  poetry,  —  even  to  some  portions  or  the 
whole  of  Davenant's  <  Gondibert.'  "  This,  Tho- 
reau  does  not  mention  in  his  letter,  but  it  was 
one  of  the  things  that  attracted  Emerson's  no 
tice,  since  he  also  had  the  same  taste  for  the 
Elizabethan  and  Jacobean  English  poets.  An 
English  youth,  Henry  Headley,  pupil  of  Dr. 
Parr,  .and  graduate  of  Oxford  in  1786,  had  pre 
ceded  Thoreau  in  this  study  of  poets  that  had 
become  obsolete ;  and  it  was  perhaps  Headley 's 
volume,  "  Select  Beauties  of  Ancient  English 
Poetry,  with  Remarks  by  the  late  Henry  Head- 
ley,"  published  long  after  his  death,1  that  served 
Thoreau  as  a  guide  to  Quarles  and  the  Fletch 
ers,  Daniel,  Drummond,  Dray  ton,  Habington, 
and  Raleigh,  —  poets  that  few  Americans  had 
heard  of  in  1833. 

TO    RICHARD    F.    FULLER    (AT    CAMBRIDGE). 

CONCORD,  April  2,  1843. 

DEAR  RICHARD,  —  I  was  glad  to  receive  a 
letter  from  you  so  bright  and  cheery.  You 
speak  of  not  having  made  any  conquests  with 
your  own  spear  or  quill  as  yet ;  but  if  you  are 
tempering  your  spear-head  during  these  days, 

1  Headley  died  at  the  age  of  twenty-three,  in  1788.  His 
posthumous  book  was  edited  in  1810  by  Rev.  Henry  Kett,  and 
published  in  London  by  John  Sharp. 


78  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

and  fitting  a  straight  and  tough  shaft  thereto, 
will  not  that  suffice?  We  are  more  pleased  to 
consider  the  hero  in  the  forest  cutting  cornel  or 
ash  for  his  spear,  than  marching  in  triumph 
with  his  trophies.  The  present  hour  is  always 
wealthiest  when  it  is  poorer  than  the  future 
ones,  as  that  is  the  pleasantest  site  which  affords 
the  pleasantest  prospects. 

What  you  say  about  your  studies  furnishing 
you  with  a  "mimic  idiom"  only,  reminds  me 
that  we  shall  all  do  well  if  we  learn  so  much  as 
to  talk,  —  to  speak  truth.  The  only  fruit  which 
even  much  living  yields  seems  to  be  often  only 
some  trivial  success,  —  the  ability  to  do  some 
slight  thing  better.  We  make  conquest  only  of 
husks  and  shells  for  the  most  part,  —  at  least 
apparently, —  but  sometimes  these  are  cinnamon 
and  spices,  you  know.  Even  the  grown  hunter 
you  speak  of  slays  a  thousand  buffaloes,  and 
brings  off  only  their  hides  and  tongues.  What 
immense  sacrifices,  what  hecatombs  and  holo 
causts,  the  gods  exact  for  very  slight  favors! 
How  much  sincere  life  before  we  can  even  utter 
one  sincere  word. 

What  I  was  learning  in  college  was  chiefly,  I 
think,  to  express  myself,  and  I  see  now,  that  as 
the  old  orator  prescribed,  1st,  action ;  2d,  ac 
tion  ;  3d,  action ;  my  teachers  should  have  pre 
scribed  to  me,  1st,  sincerity ;  2d,  sincerity ;  3d, 


jsT.25.]  TO  RICHARD   F.   FULLER.  79 

sincerity.  The  old  mythology  is  incomplete 
without  a  god  or  goddess  of  sincerity,  on  whose 
altars  we  might  offer  up  all  the  products  of  our 
farms,  our  workshops,  and  our  studies.  It 
should  be  our  Lar  when  we  sit  on  the  hearth, 
and  our  Tutelar  Genius  when  we  walk  abroad. 
This  is  the  only  panacea.  I  mean  sincerity  in 
our  dealings  with  ourselves  mainly ;  any  other 
is  comparatively  easy.  But  I  must  stop  before 
I  get  to  ITthly.  I  believe  I  have  but  one  text 
and  one  sermon. 

Your  rural  adventures  beyond  the  West  Cam 
bridge  hills  have  probably  lost  nothing  by  dis 
tance  of  time  or  space.  I  used  to  hear  only  the 
sough  of  the  wind  in  the  woods  of  Concord, 
when  I  was  striving  to  give  my  attention  to  a 
page  of  Calculus.  But,  depend  upon  it,  you  will 
love  your  native  hills  the  better  for  being  sepa 
rated  from  them. 

I  expect  to  leave  Concord,  which  is  my  Rome, 
and  its  people,  who  are  my  Romans,  in  May, 
and  go  to  New  York,  to  be  a  tutor  in  Mr.  Wil 
liam  Emerson's  family.  So  I  will  bid  you  good 
by  till  I  see  you  or  hear  from  you  again. 

Going  to  Staten  Island,  early  in  May,  1843, 
Thoreau's  first  care  was  to  write  to  his  "Ro 
mans,  countrymen,  and  lovers  by  the  banks  of 
the  Musketaquid," — beginning  with  his  mother, 


80  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

his  sisters,  and  Mrs.  Emerson.  To  Sophia  and 
Mrs.  E.  he  wrote  May  22, —  to  Helen,  with  a 
few  touching  verses  on  his  brother  John,  the 
next  day ;  and  then  he  resumed  the  correspond 
ence  with  Emerson.  It  seems  that  one  of  his 
errands  near  New  York  was  to  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  literary  men  and  journalists  in 
the  city,  in  order  to  find  a  vehicle  for  publica 
tion,  such  as  his  neighbor  Hawthorne  had  finally 
found  in  the  pages  of  the  "Democratic  Keview." 
For  this  purpose  Thoreau  made  himself  known 
to  Henry  James,  and  other  friends  of  Emerson, 
and  to  Horace  Greeley,  then  in  the  first  fresh 
ness  of  his  success  with  the  "  Tribune,"  -  —  a 
newspaper  hardly  more  than  two  years  old  then, 
but  destined  to  a  great  career,  in  which  several 
of  the  early  Transcendentalists  took  some  part. 

TO   HIS    FATHER    AND    MOTHER    (AT    CONCORD). 
CASTLETON,  STATEN  ISLAND,  May  11,  1843. 

DEAR  MOTHER  AND  FRIENDS  AT  HOME, — 
We  arrived  here  safely  at  ten  o'clock  on  Sun 
day  morning,  having  had  as  good  a  passage  as 
usual,  though  we  ran  aground  and  were  de 
tained  a  couple  of  hours  in  the  Thames  River, 
till  the  tide  came  to  our  relief.  At  length  we 
curtseyed  up  to  a  wharf  just  the  other  side  of 
their  Castle  Garden,  —  very  incurious  about 
them  and  their  city.  I  believe  my  vacant  looks, 


JET.  25.]     TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER.     81 

absolutely  inaccessible  to  questions,  did  at  length 
satisfy  an  army  of  starving  cabmen  that  I  did 
not  want  a  hack,  cab,  or  anything  of  that  sort 
as  yet.  It  was  the  only  demand  the  city  made 
on  us ;  as  if  a  wheeled  vehicle  of  some  sort  were 
the  sum  and  summit  of  a  reasonable  man's 
wants.  "  Having  tried  the  water,"  they  seemed 
to  say,  "  will  you  not  return  to  the  pleasant  se 
curities  of  land  carriage  ?  Else  why  your  boat's 
prow  turned  toward  the  shore  at  last?"  They 
are  a  sad-looking  set  of  fellows,  not  permitted 
to  come  on  board,  and  I  pitied  them.  They  had 
been  expecting  me,  it  would  seem,  and  did  really 
wish  that  I  should  take  a  cab ;  though  they  did 
not  seem  rich  enough  to  supply  me  with  one. 

It  was  a  confused  jumble  of  heads  and  soiled 
coats,  dangling  from  flesh-colored  faces,  —  all 
swaying  to  and  fro,  as  by  a  sort  of  undertow, 
while  each  whipstick,  true  as  the  needle  to  the 
pole,  still  preserved  that  level  and  direction  in 
which  its  proprietor  had  dismissed  his  forlorn 
interrogatory.  They  took  sight  from  them, — 
the  lash  being  wound  up  thereon,  to  prevent  your 
attention  from  wandering,  or  to  make  it  concen 
tre  upon  its  object  by  the  spiral  line.  They  be 
gan  at  first,  perhaps,  with  the  modest,  but  rather 
confident  inquiry,  "Want  a  cab,  sir?"  but  as 
their  despair  increased,  it  took  the  affirmative 
tone,  as  the  disheartened  and  irresolute  are  apt 


82  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

to  do:  "You  want  a  cab,  sir,"  or  even,  "You 
want  a  nice  cab,  sir,  to  take  you  to  Fourth 
Street."  The  question  which  one  had  bravely 
and  hopefully  begun  to  put,  another  had  the 
tact  to  take  up  and  conclude  with  fresh  empha 
sis,  —  twirling  it  from  his  particular  whipstick 
as  if  it  had  emanated  from  his  lips  —  as  the  sen 
timent  did  from  his  heart.  Each  one  could 
truly  say,  "Them  's  my  sentiments."  But  it  was 
a  sad  sight. 

I  am  seven  and  a  half  miles  from  New  York, 
and,  as  it  would  take  half  a  day  at  least,  have 
not  been  there  yet.  I  have  already  run  over  no 
small  part  of  the  island,  to  the  highest  hill,  and 
some  way  along  the  shore.  From  the  hill  di 
rectly  behind  the  house  I  can  see  New  York, 
Brooklyn,  Long  Island,  the  Narrows,  through 
which  vessels  bound  to  and  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  chiefly  pass,  —  Sandy  Hook  and  the  High 
lands  of  Neversink  (part  of  the  coast  of  New 
Jersey)  —  and,  by  going  still  farther  up  the 
hill,  the  Kill  van  Kull,  and  Newark  Bay.  From 
the  pinnacle  of  one  Madame  Grimes'  house,  the 
other  night  at  sunset,  I  could  see  almost  round 
the  island.  Far  in  the  horizon  there  was  a  fleet 
of  sloops  bound  up  the  Hudson,  which  seemed 
to  be  going  over  the  edge  of  the  earth ;  and  in 
view  of  these  trading  ships,  commerce  seems 
quite  imposing. 


;ET.25.]     TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER.    83 

But  it  is  rather  derogatory  that  your  dwelling- 
place  should  be  only  a  neighborhood  to  a  great 
city,  —  to  live  on  an  inclined  plane.  I  do  not  like 
their  cities  and  forts,  with  their  morning  and 
evening  guns,  and  sails  flapping  in  one's  eye.  I 
want  a  whole  continent  to  breathe  in,  and  a  good 
deal  of  solitude  and  silence,  such  as  all  Wall 
Street  cannot  buy,  —  nor  Broadway  with  its 
wooden  pavement.  I  must  live  along  the  beach, 
on  the  southern  shore,  which  looks  directly  out 
to  sea,  —  and  see  what  that  great  parade  of  water 
means,  that  dashes  and  roars,  and  has  not  yet 
wet  me,  as  long  as  I  have  lived. 

I  must  not  know  anything  about  my  condition 
and  relations  here  till  what  is  not  permanent  is 
worn  off.  I  have  not  yet  subsided.  Give  me 
time  enough,  and  I  may  like  it.  All  my  inner 
man  heretofore  has  been  a  Concord  impression ; 
and  here  come  these  Sandy  Hook  and  Coney 
Island  breakers  to  meet  and  modify  the  former ; 
but  it  will  be  long  before  I  can  make  nature 
look  as  innocently  grand  and  inspiring  as  in 
Concord.  Your  affectionate  son, 

HENKY  D.  THOKEAU. 


84  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

TO   SOPHIA   THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

CASTLETON,  Staten  Island,  May  22,  1843. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  I  have  had  a  severe  cold 
ever  since  I  came  here,  and  have  been  confined 
to  the  house  for  the  last  week  with  bronchitis, 
though  I  am  now  getting  out,  so  I  have  not  seen 
much  in  the  botanical  way.  The  cedar  seems  to 
be  one  of  the  most  common  trees  here,  and  the 
fields  are  very  fragrant  with  it.  There  are  also 
the  gum  and  tulip  trees.  The  latter  is  not  very 
common,  but  is  very  large  and  beautiful,  having 
flowers  as  large  as  tulips,  and  as  handsome.  It 
is  not  time  for  it  yet. 

The  woods  are  now  full  of  a  large  honeysuckle 
in  full  bloom,  which  differs  from  ours  in  being 
red  instead  of  white,  so  that  at  first  I  did  not 
know  its  genus.  The  painted  cup  is  very  com 
mon  in  the  meadows  here.  Peaches,  and  espe 
cially  cherries,  seem  to  grow  by  all  the  fences. 
Things  are  very  forward  here  compared  with 
Concord.  The  apricots  growing  out  of  doors 
are  already  as  large  as  plums.  The  apple,  pear, 
peach,  cherry,  and  plum  trees  have  shed  their 
blossoms.  The  whole  island  is  like  a  garden, 
and  affords  very  fine  scenery. 

In  front  of  the  house  is  a  very  extensive  wood, 
beyond  which  is  the  sea,  whose  roar  I  can  hear 
all  night  long,  when  there  is  a  wind ;  if  easterly 


2ET.25.]  TO  SOPHIA    THOREAU.  85 

winds  have  prevailed  on  the  Atlantic.  There 
are  always  some  vessels  in  sight  —  ten,  twenty, 
or  thirty  miles  off  —  and  Sunday  before  last 
there  were  hundreds  in  long  procession,  stretch 
ing  from  New  York  to  Sandy  Hook,  and  far 
beyond,  for  Sunday  is  a  lucky  day. 

I  went  to  New  York  Saturday  before  last.  A 
walk  of  half  an  hour,  by  half  a  dozen  houses 
along  the  Richmond  Road,  —  that  is  the  road  that 
leads  to  Richmond,  on  which  we  live,  —  brings 
me  to  the  village  of  Stapleton,  in  Southfield, 
where  is  the  lower  dock ;  but  if  I  prefer  I  can 
walk  along  the  shore  three  quarters  of  a  mile 
farther  toward  New  York  to  the  quarantine  vil 
lage  of  Castleton,  to  the  upper  dock,  which  the 
boat  leaves  five  or  six  times  every  day,  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  later  than  the  former  place.  Farther 
on  is  the  village  of  New  Brighton,  and  farther 
still  Port  Richmond,  which  villages  another 
steamboat  visits. 

In  New  York  I  saw  George  Ward,  and  also 
Giles  Waldo  and  William  Tappan,  whom  I  can 
describe  better  when  I  have  seen  them  more. 
They  are  young  friends  of  Mr.  Emerson.  Waldo 
came  down  to  the  island  to  see  me  the  next  day. 
I  also  saw  the  Great  Western,  the  Croton  water 
works,  and  the  picture  gallery  of  the  National 
Academy  of  Design.  But  I  have  not  had  time 
to  see  or  do  much  yet. 


86  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Tell  Miss  Ward  I  shall  try  to  put  my  micro 
scope  to  a  good  use,  and  if  I  find  any  new  and 
preservable  flower,  will  throw  it  into  my  common 
place  book.  Garlic,  the  original  of  the  common 
onion,  grows  here  all  over  the  fields,  and  during 
its  season  spoils  the  cream  and  butter  for  the 
market,  as  the  cows  like  it  very  much. 

Tell  Helen  there  are  two  schools  of  late  estab 
lished  in  the  neighborhood,  with  large  prospects, 
or  rather  designs,  one  for  boys  and  another  for 
girls.  The  latter  by  a  Miss  Errington,  and 
though  it  is  only  small  as  yet,  I  will  keep  my 
ears  open  for  her  in  such  directions.  The  en 
couragement  is  very  slight. 

I  hope  you  will  not  be  washed  away  by  the 
Irish  sea. 

Tell  Mother  I  think  my  cold  was  not  wholly 
owing  to  imprudence.  Perhaps  I  was  being 
acclimated. 

Tell  Father  that  Mr.  Tappan,  whose  son  I 
know,  —  and  whose  clerks  young  Tappan  and 
Waldo  are,  —  has  invented  and  established  a 
new  and  very  important  business,  which  Waldo 
thinks  would  allow  them  to  burn  ninety-nine  out 
of  one  hundred  of  the  stores  in  New  York,  which 
now  only  offset  and  cancel  one  another.  It  is  a 
kind  of  intelligence  office  for  the  whole  country, 
with  branches  in  the  principal  cities,  giving 
information  with  regard  to  the  credit  and  affairs 


MT.  25.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  87 

of  every  man  of  business  of  the  country.  Of 
course  it  is  not  popular  at  the  South  and  West. 
It  is  an  extensive  business  and  will  employ  a 
great  many  clerks. 

Love  to  all  —  not  forgetting  aunt  and  aunts  — 
and  Miss  and  Mrs.  Ward. 

On  the  23d  of  May  he  wrote  from  Castleton 
to  his  sister  Helen  thus  :  — 

DEAR  HELEN,  —  In  place  of  something  fresher, 
I  send  you  the  following  verses  from  my  Journal, 
written  some  time  ago  :  — 

Brother,  where  dost  thou  dwell  ? 

What  sun  shines  for  thee  now  ? 
Dost  thou  indeed  fare  well 

As  we  wished  here  below  ? 

What  season  didst  thou  find  ? 

'T  was  winter  here. 
Are  not  the  Fates  more  kind 

Than  they  appear  ? 

Is  thy  brow  clear  again, 

As  in  thy  youthful  years  ? 
And  was  that  ugly  pain 

The  summit  of  thy  fears  ? l 

1  An  allusion  to  the  strange  and  painful  death  of  John 
Thoreau,  by  lockjaw.  He  had-  slightly  wounded  himself  in 
shaving,  and  the  cut  became  inflamed  and  brought  on  that 
hideous  and  deforming  malady,  of  which,  by  sympathy,  Henry 
also  partook,  though  he  recovered. 


88  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Yet  tliou  wast  cheery  still ;  . 

They  could  not  quench  thy  fire ; 
Thou  didst  abide  their  will, 

And  then  retire. 

Where  chiefly  shall  I  look 

To  feel  thy  presence  near  ? 
Along1  the  neighboring  brook 

May  I  thy  voice  still  hear  ? 

Dost  thou  still  haunt  the  brink 

Of  yonder  river's  tide  ? 
And  may  I  ever  think 

That  thou  art  by  my  side  ? 

What  bird  wilt  thou  employ 

To  bring1  me  word  of  thee  ? 
For  it  would  give  them  joy,  — 

'T  would  give  them  liberty, 
To  serve  their  former  lord 

With  wing  and  minstrelsy. 

A  sadder  strain  mixed  with  their  song, 
They  've  slowlier  built  their  nests ; 

Since  thou  art  gone 

Their  lively  labor  rests. 

Where  is  the  finch,  the  thrush 

I  used  to  hear  ? 
Ah,  they  could  well  abide 

The  dying  year. 

Now  they  no  more  return, 

I  hear  them  not ; 
They  have  remained  to  mourn ; 

Or  else  forgot. 


JET.  25.]  TO  MRS.  EMERSON.  89 

As  the  first  letter  of  Thoreau  to  Emerson  was 
to  thank  him  for  his  lofty  friendship,  so  now  the 
first  letter  to  Mrs.  Emerson,  after  leaving  her 
house,  was  to  say  similar  things,  with  a  passing 
allusion  to  her  love  of  flowers  and  of  gardening,  in 
which  she  surpassed  all  his  acquaintance  in  Con 
cord,  then  and  afterward.  A  letter  to  Emerson 
followed,  touching  on  the  "  Dial "  and  on  several 
of  his  new  and  old  acquaintance.  "Rockwood 
Hoar  "  is  the  person  since  known  as  judge  and 
cabinet  officer,  —  the  brother  of  Senator  Hoar, 
and  of  Thoreau's  special  friends,  Elizabeth  and 
Edward  Hoar.  Channing  is  the  poet,  who  had 
lately  printed  his  first  volume,  without  finding 
many  readers. 

TO    MRS.    EMERSON    (AT   CONCORD). 

CASTLETON,  Staten  Island,  May  22,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  believe  a  good  many 
conversations  with  you  were  left  in  an  unfinished 
state,  and  now  indeed  I  don't  know  where  to 
take  them  up.  But  I  will  resume  some  of  the 
unfinished  silence.  I  shall  not  hesitate  to  know 
you.  I  think  of  you  as  some  elder  sister  of 
mine,  whom  I  could  not  have  avoided,  —  a  sort 
of  lunar  influence,  —  only  of  such  age  as  the 
moon,  whose  time  is  measured  by  her  light.  You 
must  know  that  you  represent  to  me  woman,  for 
I  have  not  traveled  very  far  or  wide,  —  and  what 


90  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

if  I  had  ?  I  like  to  deal  with  you,  for  I  believe 
you  do  not  lie  or  steal,  and  these  are  very  rare 
virtues.  I  thank  you  for  your  influence  for  two 
years.  I  was  fortunate  to  be  subjected  to  it,  and 
am  now  to  remember  it.  It  is  the  noblest  gift 
we  can  make ;  what  signify  all  others  that  can 
be  bestowed  ?  You  have  helped  to  keep  my  life 
"  on  loft,"  as  Chaucer  says  of  Griselda,  and  in  a 
better  sense.  You  always  seemed  to  look  down 
at  me  as  from  some  elevation  —  some  of  your 
high  humilities  —  and  I  was  the  better  for  hav 
ing  to  look  up.  I  felt  taxed  not  to  disappoint 
your  expectation ;  for  could  there  be  any  acci 
dent  so  sad  as  to  be  respected  for  something  bet 
ter  than  we  are  ?  It  was  a  pleasure  even  to  go 
away  from  you,  as  it  is  not  to  meet  some,  as  it 
apprised  me  of  my  high  relations ;  and  such  a 
departure  is  a  sort  of  further  introduction  and 
meeting.  Nothing  makes  the  earth  seem  so  spa 
cious  as  to  have  friends  at  a  distance ;  they  make 
the  latitudes  and  longitudes. 

You  must  not  think  that  fate  is  so  dark  there, 
for  even  here  I  can  see  a  faint  reflected  light 
over  Concord,  and  I  think  that  at  this  distance  I 
can  better  weigh  the  value  of  a  doubt  there. 
Your  moonlight,  as  I  have  told  you,  though  it  is 
a  reflection  of  the  sun,  allows  of  bats  and  owls 
and  other  twilight  birds  to  flit  therein.  But  I 
am  very  glad  that  you  can  elevate  your  life  with 


J5T.25.]  TO  MRS.   EMERSON.  91 

a  doubt,  for  I  am  sure  that  it  is  nothing  but  an 
insatiable  faith  after  all  that  deepens  and  dark 
ens  its  current.  And  your  doubt  and  my  confi 
dence  are  only  a  difference  of  expression. 

I  have  hardly  begun  to  live  on  Staten  Island 
yet ;  but,  like  the  man  who,  when  forbidden  to 
tread  on  English  ground,  carried  Scottish  ground 
in  his  boots,  I  carry  Concord  ground  in  my  boots 
and  in  my  hat,  —  and  am  I  not  made  of  Concord 
dust  ?  I  cannot  realize  that  it  is  the  roar  of  the 
sea  I  hear  now,  and  not  the  wind  in  Walden 
woods.  I  find  more  of  Concord,  after  all,  in  the 
prospect  of  the  sea,  beyond  Sandy  Hook,  than  in 
the  fields  and  woods. 

If  you  were  to  have  this  Hugh  the  gardener 
for  your  man,  you  would  think  a  new  dispensa 
tion  had  commenced.  He  might  put  a  fairer 
aspect  on  the  natural  world  for  you,  or  at  any 
rate  a  screen  between  you  and  the  almshouse. 
There  is  a  beautiful  red  honeysuckle  now  in 
blossom  in  the  woods  here,  which  should  be 
transplanted  to  Concord ;  and  if  what  they  tell 
me  about  the  tulip-tree  be  true,  you  should  have 
that  also.  I  have  not  seen  Mrs.  Black  yet,  but 
I  intend  to  call  on  her  soon.  Have  you  estab 
lished  those  simpler  modes  of  living  yet  ?  —  "In 
the  full  tide  of  successful  operation  ?  " 

Tell  Mrs.  Brown  that  I  hope  she  is  anchored 
in  a  secure  haven  and  derives  much  pleasure 


92  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

still  from  reading  the  poets,  and  that  her  con 
stellation  is  not  quite  set  from  my  sight,  though 
it  is  sunk  so  low  in  that  northern  horizon.  Tell 
Elizabeth  Hoar  that  her  bright  present  did 
"  carry  ink  safely  to  Staten  Island,"  and  was  a 
conspicuous  object  in  Master  Haven's  inventory 
of  my  effects.  Give  my  respects  to  Madam 
Emerson,  whose  Concord  face  I  should  be  glad 
to  see  here  this  summer ;  and  remember  me  to 
the  rest  of  the  household  who  have  had  vision  of 
me.  Shake  a  day-day  to  Edith,  and  say  good 
night  to  Ellen  for  me.  Farewell. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT   CONCORD). 

CASTLETON,  STATEN  ISLAND,  May  23. 

MY  DEAR  FKIEND, —  I  was  just  going  to  write 
to  you  when  I  received  your  letter.  I  was  wait 
ing  till  I  had  got  away  from  Concord.  I  should 
have  sent  you  something  for  the  "  Dial "  before, 
but  I  have  been  sick  ever  since  I  came  here, 
rather  unaccountably,  —  what  with  a  cold,  bron 
chitis,  acclimation,  etc.,  still  unaccountably.  I 
send  you  some  verses  from  my  journal  which 
will  help  make  a  packet.  I  have  not  time  to 
correct  them,  if  this  goes  by  Rockwood  Hoar. 
If  I  can  finish  an  account  of  a  winter's  walk  in 
Concord,  in  the  midst  of  a  Staten  Island  sum 
mer,  —  not  so  wise  as  true,  I  trust,  —  I  will  send 
it  to  you  soon. 


JET.  25.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  93 

I  have  had  no  later  experiences  yet.  You 
must  not  count  much  upon  what  I  can  do  or 
learn  in  New  York.  I  feel  a  good  way  off  here ; 
and  it  is  not  to  be  visited,  but  seen  and  dwelt  in. 
I  have  been  there  but  once,  and  have  been  con 
fined  to  the  house  since.  Everything  there  dis 
appoints  me  but  the  crowd  ;  rather,  I  was  dis 
appointed  with  the  rest  before  I  came.  I  have 
no  eyes  for  their  churches,  and  what  else  they 
find  to  brag  of.  Though  I  know  but  little  about 
Boston,  yet  what  attracts  me,  in  a  quiet  way, 
seems  much  meaner  and  more  pretending  than 
there,  —  libraries,  pictures,  and  faces  in  the 
street.  You  don't  know  where  any  respecta 
bility  inhabits.  It  is  in  the  crowd  in  Chatham 
Street.  The  crowd  is  something  new,  and  to  be 
attended  to.  It  is  worth  a  thousand  Trinity 
Churches  and  Exchanges  while  it  is  looking 
at  them,  and  will  run  over  them  and  trample 
them  under  foot  one  day.  There  are  two  things 
I  hear  and  am  aware  I  live  in  the  neighborhood 
of,  —  the  roar  of  the  sea  and  the  hum  of  the 
city.  I  have  just  come  from  the  beach  (to  find 
your  letter),  and  I  like  it  much.  Everything 
there  is  on  a  grand  and  generous  scale,  —  sea 
weed,  water,  and  sand  ;  and  even  the  dead  fishes, 
horses,  and  hogs  have  a  rank,  luxuriant  odor ; 
great  shad-nets  spread  to  dry ;  crabs  and  horse 
shoes  crawling  over  the  sand  ;  clumsy  boats,  only 


94  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

for  service,  dancing  like  sea-fowl  over  the  surf, 
and  ships  afar  off  going  about  their  business. 

Waldo  and  Tappan  carried  me  to  their  Eng 
lish  alehouse  the  first  Saturday,  and  Waldo 
spent  two  hours  here  the  next  day.  But  Tap- 
pan  I  have  only  seen.  I  like  his  looks  and  the 
sound  of  his  silence.  They  are  confined  every 
clay  but  Sunday,  and  then  Tappan  is  obliged  to 
observe  the  demeanor  of  a  church-goer  to  pre 
vent  open  war  with  his  father. 

I  am  glad  that  Channing  has  got  settled,  and 
that,  too,  before  the  inroad  of  the  Irish.  I  have 
read  his  poems  two  or  three  times  over,  and  par 
tially  through  and  under,  with  new  and  increased 
interest  and  appreciation.  Tell  him  I  saw  a 
man  buy  a  copy  at  Little  &  Brown's.  He  may 
have  been  a  virtuoso,  but  we  will  give  him  the 
credit.  What  with  Alcott  and  Lane  and  Haw 
thorne,  too,  you  look  strong  enough  to  take  New 
York  by  storm.  Will  you  tell  L,,  if  he  asks, 
that  I  have  been  able  to  do  nothing  about  the 
books  yet  ? 

Believe  that  I  have  something  better  to  write 
you  than  this.  It  would  be  unkind  to  thank  you 
for  particular  deeds. 


JET.  25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  95 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  June  8,  1843. 
DEAR  FKIEND, —  I  have  been  to  see  Henry 
James,  and  like  him  very  much.  It  was  a  great 
pleasure  to  meet  him.  It  makes  humanity  seem 
more  erect  and  respectable.  I  never  was  more 
kindly  and  faithfully  catechised.  It  made  me 
respect  myself  more  to  be  thought  worthy  of 
such  wise  questions.  He  is  a  man,  and  takes 
his  own  way,  or  stands  still  in  his  own  place. 
I  know  of  no  one  so  patient  and  determined  to 
have  the  good  of  yon.  It  is  almost  friendship, 
such  plain  and  human  dealing.  I  think  that  he 
will  not  write  or  speak  inspiringly ;  but  he  is  a 
refreshing,  forward-looking  and  forward-moving 
man,  and  he  has  naturalized  and  humanized  New 
York  for  me.  He  actually  reproaches  you  by 
his  respect  for  your  poor  words.  I  had  three 
hours'  solid  talk  with  him,  and  he  asks  me  to 
make  free  use  of  his  house.  He  wants  an  ex 
pression  of  your  faith,  or  to  be  sure  that  it  is 
faith,  and  confesses  that  his  own  treads  fast  upon 
the  neck  of  his  understanding.  He  exclaimed, 
at  some  careless  answer  of  mine,  "  Well,  you 
Transcendentalists  are  wonderfully  consistent.  I 
must  get  hold  of  this  somehow  !  "  He  likes  Car- 
lyle's  book,1  but  says  that  it  leaves  him  in  an 

1  Past  and  Present. 


96  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

excited  and  unprofitable  state,  and  that  Carlyle 
is  so  ready  to  obey  Ms  humor  that  he  makes  the 
least  vestige  of  truth  the  foundation  of  any  su 
perstructure,  not  keeping  faith  with  his  better 
genius  nor  truest  readers. 

I  met  Wright  on  the  stairs  of  the  Society 
Library,  and  W.  H.  Charming  and  Brisbane  on 
the  steps.  The  former  (Channing)  is  a  concave 
man,  and  you  see  by  his  attitude  and  the  lines 
of  his  face  that  he  is  retreating  from  himself  and 
from  yourself,  with  sad  doubts.  It  is  like  a  fair 
mask  swaying  from  the  drooping  boughs  of  some 
tree  whose  stem  is  not  seen.  He  would  break 
with  a  conchoidal  fracture.  You  feel  as  if  you 
would  like  to  see  him  when  he  has  made  up  his 
mind  to  run  all  the  risks.  To  be  sure,  he  doubts 
because  he  has  a  great  hope  to  be  disappointed, 
but  he  makes  the  possible  disappointment  of  too 
much  consequence.  Brisbane,  with  whom  I  did 
not  converse,  did  not  impress  me  favorably.  He 
looks  like  a  man  who  has  lived  in  a  cellar,  far 
gone  in  consumption.  I  barely  saw  him,  but  he 
did  not  look  as  if  he  could  let  Fourier  go,  in  any 
case,  and  throw  up  his  hat.  But  I  need  not 
have  come  to  New  York  to  write  this. 

I  have  seen  Tappan  for  two  or  three  hours, 
and  like  both  him  and  Waldo  ;  but  I  always  see 
those  of  whom  I  have  heard  well  with  a  slight 
disappointment.  They  are  so  much  better  than 


JET.  25.]  TO  R.   W.   EMERSON.  97 

the  great  herd,  and  yet  the  heavens  are  not 
shivered  into  diamonds  over  their  heads.  Per 
sons  and  things  flit  so  rapidly  through  my  brain 
nowadays  that  I  can  hardly  remember  them. 
They  seem  to  be  lying  in  the  stream,  stemming 
the  tide,  ready  to  go  to  sea,  as  steamboats  when 
they  leave  the  dock  go  off  in  the  opposite  direc 
tion  first,  until  they  are  headed  right,  and  then 
begins  the  steady  revolution  of  the  paddle- 
wheels  ;  and  they  are  not  quite  cheerily  headed 
anywhither  yet,  nor  singing  amid  the  shrouds 
as  they  bound  over  the  billows.  There  is  a  cer 
tain  youthfulness  and  generosity  about  them, 
very  attractive ;  and  Tappan's  more  reserved 
and  solitary  thought  commands  respect. 

After  some  ado,  I  discovered  the  residence  of 
Mrs.  Black,  but  there  was  palmed  off  on  me,  in 
her  stead,  a  Mrs.  Grey  (quite  an  inferior  color), 
who  told  me  at  last  that  she  was  not  Mrs.  Black, 
but  her  mother,  and  was  just  as  glad  to  see  me 
as  Mrs.  Black  would  have  been,  and  so,  for 
sooth,  would  answer  just  as  well.  Mrs.  Black 
had  gone  with  Edward  Palmer  to  New  Jersey, 
and  would  return  on  the  morrow. 

I  don't  like  the  city  better,  the  more  I  see  it, 
but  worse.  I  am  ashamed  of  my  eyes  that  be 
hold  it.  It  is  a  thousand  times  meaner  than  I 
could  have  imagined.  It  will  be  something  to 
hate,  —  that  'a  the  advantage  it  will  be  to  me  ; 


98  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

and  even  the  best  people  in  it  are  a  part  of  it, 
and  talk  coolly  about  it.  The  pigs  in  the  street 
are  the  most  respectable  part  of  the  population. 
When  will  the  world  learn  that  a  million  men 
are  of  no  importance  compared  with  one  man  ? 
But  I  must  wait  for  a  shower  of  shillings,  or  at 
least  a  slight  dew  or  mizzling  of  sixpences,  be 
fore  I  explore  New  York  very  far. 

The  sea-beach  is  the  best  thing  I  have  seen. 
It  is  very  solitary  and  remote,  and  you  only  re 
member  New  York  occasionally.  The  distances, 
too,  along  the  shore,  and  inland  in  sight  of  it, 
are  unaccountably  great  and  startling.  The  sea 
seems  very  near  from  the  hills,  but  it  proves  a 
long  way  over  the  plain,  and  yet  you  may  be 
wet  with  the  spray  before  you  can  believe  that 
you  are  there.  The  far  seems  near,  and  the 
near  far.  Many  rods  from  the  beach,  I  step 
aside  for  the  Atlantic,  and  I  see  men  drag  up 
their  boats  on  to  the  sand,  with  oxen,  stepping 
about  amid  the  surf,  as  if  it  were  possible  they 
might  draw  up  Sandy  Hook. 

I  do  not  feel  myself  especially  serviceable  to 
the  good  people  with  whom  I  live,  except  as  in 
flictions  are  sanctified  to  the  righteous.  And  so, 
too,  must  I  serve  the  boy.  I  can  look  to  the 
Latin  and  mathematics  sharply,  and  for  the  rest 
behave  myself.  But  I  cannot  be  in  his  neigh 
borhood  hereafter  as  his  Educator,  of  course,  but 


jsT.25.]  TO  R.   W.   EMERSON.  99 

as  the  hawks  fly  over  my  own  head.  I  am  not 
attracted  toward  him  but  as  to  youth  generally. 
He  shall  frequent  me,  however,  as  much  as  he 
can,  and  I  '11  be  I. 

Bradbury l  told  me,  when  I  passed  through 
Boston,  that  he  was  coming  to  New  York  the 
following  Saturday,  and  would  then  settle  with 
me,  but  he  has  not  made  his  appearance  yet. 
Will  you,  the  next  time  you  go  to  Boston,  pre 
sent  that  order  for  me  which  I  left  with  you  ? 

If  I  say  less  about  Waldo  and  Tappan  now, 
it  is,  perhaps,  because  I  may  have  more  to  say 
by  and  by.  Remember  me  to  your  mother  and 
Mrs.  Emerson,  who,  I  hope,  is  quite  well.  I 
shall  be  very  glad  to  hear  from  her,  as  well  as 
from  you.  I  have  very  hastily  written  out 
something  for  the  "  Dial,"  and  send  it  only  be 
cause  you  are  expecting  something,  —  though 
something  better.  It  seems  idle  and  Howittish, 
but  it  may  be  of  more  worth  in  Concord,  where 
it  belongs.  In  great  haste.  Farewell. 

1  Of  the  publishing  house  of  Bradbury  &  Soden,  in  Boston, 
which  had  taken  Nathan  Hale's  Boston  Miscellany  off  his 
hands,  and  had  published  in  it,  with  promise  of  payment,  Tho- 
reau's  Walk  to  Wachusett.  But  much  time  had  passed,  and 
the  debt  was  not  paid  ;  hence  the  lack  of  a  "  shower  of  shil 
lings  "  which  the  letter  laments.  Emerson's  reply  gives  the 
first  news  of  the  actual  beginning  of  Alcott's  short-lived  para 
dise  at  Fruitlands,  and  dwells  with  interest  on  the  affairs  of 
the  rural  and  lettered  circle  at  Concord. 


100  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

TO    HIS   FATHER   AND    MOTHER    (AT   CONCORD). 
CASTLETON,  June  8,  1843. 

DEAR  PARENTS,  —  I  have  got  quite  well  now, 
and  like  the  lay  of  the  land  and  the  look  of  the 
sea  very  much,  —  only  the  country  is  so  fair 
that  it  seems  rather  too  much  as  if  it  were  made 
to  be  looked  at.  I  have  been  to  New  York  four 
or  five  times,  and  have  run  about  the  island  a 
good  deal. 

George  Ward,  when  I  last  saw  him,  which 
was  at  his  house  in  Brooklyn,  was  studying  the 
Daguerreotype  process,  preparing  to  set  up  in 
that  line.  The  boats  run  now  almost  every  hour 
from  8  A.  M.  to  7  P.  M.,  back  and  forth,  so  that 
I  can  get  to  the  city  much  more  easily  than 
before.  I  have  seen  there  one  Henry  James,  a 
lame  man,  of  whom  I  had  heard  before,  whom  I 
like  very  much ;  and  he  asks  me  to  make  free 
use  of  his  house,  which  is  situated  in  a  pleasant 
part  of  the  city,  adjoining  the  University,  I 
have  met  several  people  whom  I  knew  before, 
and  among  the  rest  Mr.  Wright,  who  was  on  his 
way  to  Niagara. 

I  feel  already  about  as  well  acquainted  with 
New  York  as  with  Boston,  —  that  is,  about  as 
little,  perhaps.  It  is  large  enough  now,  and 
they  intend  it  shall  be  larger  still.  Fifteenth 
Street,  where  some  of  my  new  acquaintance  live, 


MI.  25.]    TO  HIS  FATHER  AND  MOTHER.     101 

is  two  or  three  miles  from  the  Battery,  where 
the  boat  touches,  —  clear  brick  and  stone,  and 
no  "  give  "  to  the  foot ;  and  they  have  laid  out, 
though  not  built,  up  to  the  149th  street  above. 
I  had  rather  see  a  brick  for  a  specimen,  for  my 
part,  such  as  they  exhibited  in  old  times.  You 
see  it  is  "  quite  a  day's  training  "  to  make  a  few 
calls  in  different  parts  of  the  city  (to  say  no 
thing  of  twelve  miles  by  water  and  land,  —  i.  e., 
not  brick  and  stone),  especially  if  it  does  not 
rain  shillings,  which  might  interest  omnibuses 
in  your  behalf.  Some  omnibuses  are  marked 
"  Broadway  —  Fourth  Street,"  and  they  go  no 
farther  ;  others  "  Eighth  Street,"  and  so  on,  — 
and  so  of  the  other  principal  streets.  (This  let 
ter  will  be  circumstantial  enough  for  Helen.) 

This  is  in  all  respects  a  very  pleasant  resi 
dence,  —  much  more  rural  than  you  would  ex 
pect  of  the  vicinity  of  New  York.  There  are 
woods  all  around.  We  breakfast  at  half  past 
six,  lunch,  if  we  will,  at  twelve,  and  dine  or  sup 
at  five ;  thus  is  the  day  partitioned  off.  From 
nine  to  two,  or  thereabouts,  I  am  the  schoolmas 
ter,  and  at  other  times  as  much  the  pupil  as  I 
can  be.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Emerson  are  not  indeed 
of  my  kith  or  kin  in  any  sense ;  but  they  are  ir 
reproachable  and  kind.  I  have  met  no  one  yet 
on  the  island  whose  acquaintance  I  shall  culti 
vate  —  or  hoe  round  —  unless  it  be  our  neighbor, 


102  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Captain  Smith,  an  old  fisherman,  who  catches 
the  fish  called  "  moss-bonkers  " — so  it  sounds  — 
and  invites  me  to  come  to  the  beach,  where  he 
spends  the  week,  and  see  him  and  his  fish. 

Farms  are  for  sale  all  around  here,  and  so,  I 
suppose  men  are  for  purchase.  North  of  us  live 
Peter  Wandell,  Mr.  Mell,  and  Mr.  Disosway 
(don't  mind  the  spelling),  as  far  as  the  Clove 
road;  and  south,  John  Britton,  Van  Pelt,  and 
Captain  Smith,  as  far  as  the  Fingerboard  road. 
Behind  is  the  hill,  some  250  feet  high,  on  the 
side  of  which  we  live ;  and  in  front  the  forest 
and  the  sea,  —  the  latter  at  the  distance  of  a 
mile  and  a  half. 

Tell  Helen  that  Miss  Errington  is  provided 
with  assistance.  This  were  a  good  place  as  any 
to  establish  a  school,  if  one  could  wait  a  little. 
Families  come  down  here  to  board  in  the  sum 
mer,  and  three  or  four  have  been  already  estab 
lished  this  season. 

As  for  money  matters,  I  have  not  set  my 
traps  yet,  but  I  am  getting  my  bait  ready. 
Pray,  how  does  the  garden  thrive,  and  what 
improvements  in  the  pencil  line?  I  miss  you 
all  very  much.  Write  soon,  and  send  a  Concord 
paper  to 

Your  affectionate  son, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 


2ET.25.]  TO  MRS.   EMERSON.  103 

The  traps  of  this  sportsman  were  magazine 
articles,  —  but  the  magazines  that  would  pay 
much  for  papers  were  very  few  in  1843.  One 
such  had  existed  in  Boston  for  a  short  time,  — 
the  "  Miscellany,"  -  —  and  it  printed  a  good  paper 
of  Thoreau's,  but  the  pay  was  not  forthcoming. 
His  efforts  to  find  publishers  more  liberal  in 
New  York  were  not  successful.  But  he  contin 
ued  to  write  for  fame  in  the  "  Dial,"  and  helped 
to  edit  that. 

TO   MES.    EMERSON. 

STATEN  ISLAND,  June  20,  1843. 

MY  VERY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  have  only  read 
a  page  of  your  letter,  and  have  come  out  to  the 
top  of  the  hill  at  sunset,  where  I  can  see  the 
ocean,  to  prepare  to  read  the  rest.  It  is  fitter 
that  it  should  hear  it  than  the  walls  of  my  cham 
ber.  The  very  crickets  here  seem  to  chirp  around 
me  as  they  did  not  before.  I  feel  as  if  it  were 
a  great  daring  to  go  on  and  read  the  rest,  and 
then  to  live  accordingly.  There  are  more  than 
thirty  vessels  in  sight  going  to  sea.  I  am  almost 
afraid  to  look  at  your  letter.  I  see  that  it  will 
make  my  life  very  steep,  but  it  may  lead  to  fairer 
prospects  than  this. 

You  seem  to  me  to  speak  out  of  a  very  clear 
and  high  heaven,  where  any  one  may  be  who 
stands  so  high.  Your  voice  seems  not  a  voice, 


104  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

but  comes  as  much  from  the  blue  heavens  as 
from  the  paper. 

My  dear  friend,  it  was  very  noble  in  you  to 
write  me  so  trustful  an  answer.  It  will  do  as 
well  for  another  world  as  for  this ;  such  a  voice 
is  for  no  particular  time  nor  person,  but  it  makes 
him  who  may  hear  it  stand  for  all  that  is  lofty 
and  true  in  humanity.  The  thought  of  you  will 
constantly  elevate  my  life ;  it  will  be  something 
always  above  the  horizon  to  behold,  as  when  I 
look  up  at  the  evening  star.  I  think  I  know 
your  thoughts  without  seeing  you,  and  as  well 
here  as  in  Concord.  You  are  not  at  all  strange 
to  me. 

I  could  hardly  believe,  after  the  lapse  of  one 
night,  that  I  had  such  a  noble  letter  still  at  hand 
to  read,  —  that  it  was  not  some  fine  dream.  I 
looked  at  midnight  to  be  sure  that  it  was  real. 
I  feel  that  I  am  unworthy  to  know  you,  and  yet 
they  will  not  permit  it  wrongfully. 

I,  perhaps,  am  more  willing  to  deceive  by 
appearances  than  you  say  you  are ;  it  would  not 
be  worth  the  while  to  tell  how  willing;  but  I 
have  the  power  perhaps  too  much  to  forget  my 
meanness  as  soon  as  seen,  and  not  be  incited  by 
permanent  sorrow.  My  actual  life  is  unspeak 
ably  mean  compared  with  what  I  know  and  see 
that  it  might  be.  Yet  the  ground  from  which  I 
see  and  say  this  is  some  part  of  it.  It  ranges 


*sT.25.]  TO  MRS.  EMERSON.  105 

from  heaven  to  earth,  and  is  all  things  in  an 
hour.  The  experience  of  every  past  moment 
but  belies  the  faith  of  each  present.  We  never 
conceive  the  greatness  of  our  fates.  Are  not 
these  faint  flashes  of  light  which  sometimes 
obscure  the  sun  their  certain  dawn? 

My  friend,  I  have  read  your  letter  as  if  I  was 
not  reading  it.  After  each  pause  I  could  defer 
the  rest  forever.  The  thought  of  you  will  be  a 
new  motive  for  every  right  action.  You  are 
another  human  being  whom  I  know,  and  might 
not  our  topic  be  as  broad  as  the  universe? 
What  have  we  to  do  with  petty  rumbling  news  ? 
We  have  our  own  great  affairs.  Sometimes  in 
Concord  I  found  my  actions  dictated,  as  it  were, 
by  your  influence,  and  though  it  led  almost  to 
trivial  Hindoo  observances,  yet  it  was  good  and 
elevating.  To  hear  that  you  have  sad  hours  is 
not  sad  to  me.  I  rather  rejoice  at  the  richness 
of  your  experience.  Only  think  of  some  sad 
ness  away  in  Pekin,  —  unseen  and  unknown 
there.  What  a  mine  it  is !  Would  it  not 
weigh  down  the  Celestial  Empire,  with  all  its 
gay  Chinese?  Our  sadness  is  not  sad,  but  our 
cheap  joys.  Let  us  be  sad  about  all  we  see  and 
are,  for  so  we  demand  and  pray  for  better.  It 
is  the  constant  prayer  and  whole  Christian  re 
ligion.  I  could  hope  that  you  would  get  well 
soon,  and  have  a  healthy  body  for  this  world, 


106  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

but  I  know  this  cannot  be ;  and  the  Fates,  after 
all,  are  the  accomplishes  of  our  hopes.  Yet  I 
do  hope  that  you  may  find  it  a  worthy  struggle, 
and  life  seem  grand  still  through  the  clouds. 

What  wealth  is  it  to  have  such  friends  that  we 
cannot  think  of  them  without  elevation !  And 
we  can  think  of  them  any  time  and  anywhere, 
and  it  costs  nothing  but  the  lofty  disposition.  I 
cannot  tell  you  the  joy  your  letter  gives  me,  which 
will  not  quite  cease  till  the  latest  time.  Let  me 
accompany  your  finest  thought. 

I  send  my  love  to  my  other  friend  and  brother, 
whose  nobleness  I  slowly  recognize. 

HENRY. 

TO   MBS.   THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  July  7,  1843. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  get  your 
letter  and  papers.  Tell  father  that  circumstan 
tial  letters  make  very  substantial  reading,  at  any 
rate.  I  like  to  know  even  how  the  sun  shines 
and  garden  grows  with  you.  I  did  not  get  my 
money  in  Boston,  and  probably  shall  not  at  all. 
Tell  Sophia  that  I  have  pressed  some  blossoms 
of  the  tulip-tree  for  her.  They  look  somewhat 
like  white  lilies.  The  magnolia,  too,  is  in  blossom 
here. 

Pray,  have  you  the  seventeen-year  locust  in 
Concord?  The  air  here  is  filled  with  their  din. 


asT.25.]  TO  MRS.    THOREAU.  197 

They  come  out  of  the  ground  at  first  in  an  imper 
fect  state,  and,  crawling  up  the  shrubs  and  plants, 
the  perfect  insect  bursts  out  through  the  back. 
They  are  doing  great  damage  to  the  fruit  and 
forest  trees.  The  latter  are  covered  with  dead 
twigs,  which  in  the  distance  look  like  the  blos 
soms  of  the  chestnut.  They  bore  every  twig  of 
last  year's  growth  in  order  to  deposit  their  eggs 
in  it.  In  a  few  weeks  the  eggs  will  be  hatched, 
and  the  worms  fall  to  the  ground  and  enter  it, 
and  in  1860  make  their  appearance  again.  I 
conversed  about  their  coming  this  season  before 
they  arrived.  They  do  no  injury  to  the  leaves, 
but,  beside  boring  the  twigs,  suck  their  sap  for 
sustenance.  Their  din  is  heard  by  those  who 
sail  along  the  shore  from  the  distant  woods,  — 
Phar-r-r-aoh.  Phar-r-r-aoh.  They  are  departing 
now.  Dogs,  cats,  and  chickens  subsist  mainly 
upon  them  in  some  places. 

I  have  not  been  to  New  York  for  more  than 
three  weeks.  I  have  had  an  interesting  letter 
from  Mr.  Lane,1  describing  their  new  prospects. 
My  pupil  and  I  are  getting  on  apace.  He  is 
remarkably  well  advanced  in  Latin,  and  is  well 
advancing. 

Your  letter  has  just  arrived.  I  was  not  aware 
that  it  was  so  long  since  I  wrote  home ;  I  only 

1  At  Fruitlands  with  the  Alcotts.  See  Sanborn's  Thoreau, 
p.  137,  for  this  letter. 


108  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

knew  that  I  had  sent  five  or  six  letters  to  the 
town.  It  is  very  refreshing  to  hear  from  you, 
though  it  is  not  all  good  news.  But  I  trust  that 
Stearns  Wheeler  is  not  dead.  I  should  be  slow 
to  believe  it.  He  was  made  to  work  very  well 
in  this  world.  There  need  be  no  tragedy  in  his 
death. 

The  demon  which  is  said  to  haunt  the  Jones 
family,  hovering  over  their  eyelids  with  wings 
steeped  in  juice  of  poppies,  has  commenced  an 
other  campaign  against  me.  I  am  "  clear  Jones  " 
in  this  respect  at  least.  But  he  finds  little  encour 
agement  in  my  atmosphere,  I  assure  you,  for  I 
do  not  once  fairly  lose  myself,  except  in  those 
hours  of  truce  allotted  to  rest  by  immemorial 
custom.  However,  this  skirmishing  interferes 
sadly  with  my  literary  projects,  and  I  am  apt  to 
think  it  a  good  day's  work  if  I  maintain  a  sol 
dier's  eye  till  nightfall.  Very  well,  it  does  not 
matter  much  in  what  wars  we  serve,  whether  in 
the  Highlands  or  the  Lowlands.  Everywhere 
we  get  soldiers'  pay  still. 

Give  my  love  to  Aunt  Louisa,  whose  benig 
nant  face  I  sometimes  see  right  in  the  wall,  as 
naturally  and  necessarily  shining  on  my  path  as 
some  star  of  unaccountably  greater  age  and 
higher  orbit  than  myself.  Let  it  be  inquired 
by  her  of  George  Minott,  as  from  me,  —  for  she 
sees  him,  —  if  he  has  seen  any  pigeons  yet,  and 


J5T.25.]  TO  R.   W.   EMERSON.  109 

tell  him  there  are  plenty  of  jack-snipes  here.  As 
for  William  P.,  the  "worthy  young  man,"  —  as 
I  live,  my  eyes  have  not  fallen  on  him  yet. 

I  have  not  had  the  influenza,  though  here  are 
its  headquarters,  —  unless  my  first  week's  cold 
was  it.  Tell  Helen  I  shall  write  to  her  soon.  I 
have  heard  Lucretia  Mott.  This  is  badly  writ 
ten  ;  but  the  worse  the  writing  the  sooner  you 
get  it  this  time  from 

Your  affectionate  son, 

H.  D.  T. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT   CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  July  8,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIENDS,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  hear 
your  voices  from  so  far.  I  do  not  believe  there 
are  eight  hundred  human  beings  on  the  globe. 
It  is  all  a  fable,  and  I  cannot  but  think  that  you 
speak  with  a  slight  outrage  and  disrespect  of 
Concord  when  you  talk  of  fifty  of  them.  There 
are  not  so  many.  Yet  think  not  that  I  have  left 
all  behind,  for  already  I  begin  to  track  my  way 
over  the  earth,  and  find  the  cope  of  heaven  ex 
tending  beyond  its  horizon,  —  forsooth,  like  the 
roofs  of  these  Dutch  houses.  My  thoughts  re 
vert  to  those  dear  hills  and  that  river  which  so 
fills  up  the  world  to  its  brim,  —  worthy  to  be 
named  with  Mincius  and  Alpheus,  —  still  drink 
ing  its  meadows  while  I  am  far  away.  How  can 


110  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1845, 

it  run  heedless  to  the  sea,  as  if  I  were  there  to 
countenance  it?  George  Miiiott,  too,  looms  up 
considerably,  —  and  many  another  old  familiar 
face.  These  things  all  look  sober  and  respecta 
ble.  They  are  better  than  the  environs  of  New 
York,  I  assure  you. 

I  am  pleased  to  think  of  Chamiing  as  an  in 
habitant  of  the  gray  town.  Seven  cities  con 
tended  for  Homer  dead.  Tell  him  to  remain  at 
least  long  enough  to  establish  Concord's  right 
and  interest  in  him.  I  was  beginning  to  know 
the  man.  In  imagination  I  see  you  pilgrims 
taking  your  way  by  the  red  lodge  and  the  cabin 
of  the  brave  farmer  man,  so  youthful  and  hale, 
to  the  still  cheerful  woods.  And  Hawthorne, 
too,  I  remember  as  one  with  whom  I  sauntered, 
in  old  heroic  times,  along  the  banks  of  the*  Sca- 
mander,  amid  the  ruins  of  chariots  and  heroes. 
Tell  him  not  to  desert,  even  after  the  tenth  year. 
Others  may  say,  "  Are  there  not  the  cities  of 
Asia  ?  "  But  what  are  they  ?  Staying  at  home 
is  the  heavenly  way. 

And  Elizabeth  Hoar,  my  brave  townswoman, 
to  be  sung  of  poets,  —  if  I  may  speak  of  her 
whom  I  do  not  know.  Tell  Mrs.  Brown  that  I 
do  not  forget  her,  going  her  way  under  the  stars 
through  this  chilly  world,  —  I  did  not  think  of 
the  wind,  —  and  that  I  went  a  little  way  with 
her.  Tell  her  not  to  despair.  Concord's  little 


2ET.25.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  Ill 

arch  does  not  span  all  our  fate,  nor  is  what 
transpires  under  it  law  for  the  universe. 

And  least  of  all  are  forgotten  those  walks  in 
the  woods  in  ancient  days,  —  too  sacred  to  be 
idly  remembered,  —  when  their  aisles  were  per 
vaded  as  by  a  fragrant  atmosphere.  They  still 
seem  youthful  and  cheery  to  my  imagination  as 
Sherwood  and  Barnsdale,  —  and  of  far  purer 
fame.  Those  afternoons  when  we  wandered  o'er 
Olympus,  —  and  those  hills,  from  which  the  sun 
was  seen  to  set,  while  still  our  day  held  on  its 
way. 

"  At  last  he  rose  and  twitched  his  mantle  blue ; 
To-morrow  to  fresh  woods,  and  pastures  new." 

I  remember  these  things  at  midnight,  at  rare 
intervals.  But  know,  my  friends,  that  I  a  good 
deal  hate  you  all  in  my  most  private  thoughts, 
as  the  substratum  of  the  little  love  I  bear  you. 
Though  you  are  a  rare  band,  and  do  not  make 
half  use  enough  of  one  another. 

I  think  this  is  a  noble  number  of  the  "  Dial."  1 
It  perspires  thought  and  feeling.  I  can  speak 
of  it  now  a  little  like  a  foreigner.  Be  assured 
that  it  is  not  written  in  vain,  —  it  is  not  for  me. 
I  hear  its  prose  and  its  verse.  They  provoke 

1  Emerson  also  was  satisfied  with  it  for  once,  and  wrote  to 
Thoreau  :  "  Our  Dial  thrives  well  enough  in  these  weeks.  I 
print  W.  E.  Channing's  '  Letters,'  or  the  first  ones,  but  he  does 
not  care  to  have  them  named  as  his  for  a  while.  They  are 
very  agreeable  reading." 


112  YEARS    OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

and  inspire  me,  and  they  have  my  sympathy.  I 
hear  the  sober  and  the  earnest,  the  sad  and  the 
cheery  voices  of  my  friends,  and  to  me  it  is  a 
long  letter  of  encouragement  and  reproof ;  and 
no  doubt  so  it  is  to  many  another  in  the  land. 
So  don't  give  up  the  ship.  Methinks  the  verse 
is  hardly  enough  better  than  the  prose.  I  give 
my  vote  for  the  Notes  from  the  Journal  of  a 
Scholar,  and  wonder  you  don't  print  them  faster. 
I  want,  too,  to  read  the  rest  of  the  "  Poet  and 
the  Painter."  Miss  Fuller's  is  a  noble  piece,  — 
rich,  extempore  writing,  talking  with  pen  in 
hand.  It  is  too  good  not  to  be  better,  even.  In 
writing,  conversation  should  be  folded  many 
times  thick.  It  is  the  height  of  art  that,  on  the 
first  perusal,  plain  common  sense  should  appear ; 
on  the  second,  severe  truth;  and  on  a  third, 
beauty ;  and,  having  these  warrants  for  its  depth 
and  reality,  we  may  then  enjoy  the  beauty  for 
evermore.  The  sea-piece  is  of  the  best  that  is 
going,  if  not  of  the  best  that  is  staying.  You 
have  spoken  a  good  word  for  Carlyle.  As  for 
the  "  Winter's  Walk,"  I  should  be  glad  to  have 
it  printed  in  the  "Dial"  if  you  think  it  good 
enough,  and  will  criticise  it ;  otherwise  send  it 
to  me,  and  I  will  dispose  of  it. 

I  have  not  been  to  New  York  for  a  month, 
and  so  have  not  seen  Waldo  and  Tappan.  James 
has  been  at  Albany  meanwhile.  You  will  know 


jsT.26.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  113 

that  I  only  describe  my  personal  adventures  with 
people ;  but  I  hope  to  see  more  of  them,  and 
judge  them  too.  I  am  sorry  to  learn,  that  Mrs. 
Emerson  is  no  better.  But  let  her  know  that 
the  Fates  pay  a  compliment  to  those  whom  they 
make  sick,  and  they  have  not  to  ask,  "  What  have 
I  done  ?  " 

Kemember  me  to  your  mother,  and  remember 
me  yourself  as  you  are  remembered  by 

H.  D.  T. 

I  had  a  friendly  and  cheery  letter  from  Lane 
a  month  ago. 

TO   HELEN   THOREAU    (AT   ROXBURY). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  July  21,  1843. 

DEAK  HELEN,  —  I  am  not  in  such  haste  to 
write  home  when  I  remember  that  I  make  my 
readers  pay  the  postage.  But  I  believe  I  have 
not  taxed  you  before. 

I  have  pretty  much  explored  this  island,  in 
land,  and  along  the  shore,  finding  my  health 
inclined  me  to  the  peripatetic  philosophy.  I 
have  visited  telegraph  stations,  Sailors'  Snug 
Harbors,  Seaman's  Retreats,  Old  Elm-Trees, 
where  the  Huguenots  landed,  Britton's  Mills, 
and  all  the  villages  on  the  island.  Last  Sunday 
I  walked  over  to  Lake  Island  Farm,  eight  or 
nine  miles  from  here,  where  Moses  Prichard 


114  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

lived,  and  found  the  present  occupant,  one  Mr. 
Davenport,  formerly  from  Massachusetts,  with 
three  or  four  men  to  help  him,  raising  sweet 
potatoes  and  tomatoes  by  the  acre.  It  seemed  a 
cool  and  pleasant  retreat,  but  a  hungry  soil.  As 
I  was  coming  away,  I  took  my  toll  out  of  the 
soil  in  the  shape  of  arrow-heads,  which  may  after 
all  be  the  surest  crop,  certainly  not  affected  by 
drought. 

I  am  well  enough  situated  here  to  observe  one 
aspect  of  the  modern  world  at  least.  I  mean 
the  migratory,  —  the  Western  movement.  Six 
teen  hundred  immigrants  arrived  at  quarantine 
ground  on  the  4th  of  July,  and  more  or  less 
every  day  since  I  have  been  here.  I  see  them 
occasionally  washing  their  persons  and  clothes  : 
OP  men,  women,  and  children  gathered  on  an 
isolated  quay  near  the  shore,  stretching  their 
limbs  and  taking  the  air ;  the  children  running 
races  and  swinging  on  this  artificial  piece  of  the 
land  of  liberty,  while  their  vessels  are  under 
going  purification.  They  are  detained  but  a 
day  or  two,  and  then  go  up  to  the  city,  for  the 
most  part  without  having  landed  here. 

In  the  city,  I  have  seen,  since  I  wrote  last, 
W.  H.  Channing,  at  whose  home,  in  Fifteenth 
Street,  I  spent  a  few  pleasant  hours,  discussing 
the  all-absorbing  question  "  what  to  do  for  the 
race."  (He  is  sadly  in  earnest  about  going  up 


JET.  26.]  TO  HELEN  THOREAU.  115 

the  river  to  rusticate  for  six  weeks,  and  issues  a 
new  periodical  called  "  The  Present "  in  Sep 
tember.)  Also  Horace  Greeley,  editor  of  the 
"  Tribune,"  who  is  cheerfully  in  earnest,  at  his 
office  of  all  work,  a  hearty  New  Hampshire  boy 
as  one  would  wish  to  meet,  and  says,  "  Now  be 
neighborly,"  and  believes  only,  or  mainly,  first, 
in  the  Sylvania  Association,  somewhere  in  Penn 
sylvania  ;  and,  secondly,  and  most  of  all,  in  a 
new  association  to  go  into  operation  soon  in  New 
Jersey,  with  which  he  is  connected.  Edward 
Palmer  came  down  to  see  me  Sunday  before 
last.  As  for  Waldo  and  Tappan,  we  have 
strangely  dodged  one  another,  and  have  not  met 
for  some  weeks. 

I  believe  I  have  not  told  you  anything  about 
Lucretia  Mott.  It  was  a  good  while  ago  that 
I  heard  her  at  the  Quaker  Church  in  Hester 
Street.  She  is  a  preacher,  and  it  was  adver 
tised  that  she  would  be  present  on  that  day.  I 
liked  all  the  proceedings  very  well,  their  plainly 
greater  harmony  and  sincerity  than  elsewhere. 
They  do  nothing  in  a  hurry.  Every  one  that 
walks  up  the  aisle  in  his  square  coat  and  ex 
pansive  hat  has  a  history,  and  comes  from  a 
house  to  a  house.  The  women  come  in  one  after 
another  in  their  Quaker  bonnets  and  handker 
chiefs,  looking  all  like  sisters  or  so  many  chick 
adees.  At  length,  after  a  long  silence  —  wait- 


116  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

ing  for  the  Spirit  —  Mrs.  Mott  rose,  took  off 
her  bonnet,  and  began  to  utter  very  deliberately 
what  the  Spirit  suggested.  Her  self-possession 
was  something  to  see,  if  all  else  failed ;  but  it 
did  not.  Her  subject  was,  "  The  Abuse  of  the 
Bible,"  and  thence  she  straightway  digressed  to 
slavery  and  the  degradation  of  woman.  It  was 
a  good  speech,  —  transcendentalism  in  its  mild 
est  form.  She  sat  down  at  length,  and,  after  a 
long  and  decorous  silence,  in  which  some  seemed 
to  be  really  digesting  her  words,  the  elders  shook 
hands,  and  the  meeting  dispersed.  On  the  whole, 
I  liked  their  ways  and  the  plainness  of  their 
meeting-house.  It  looked  as  if  it  was  indeed 
made  for  service. 

I  think  that  Stearns  Wheeler  has  left  a  gap 
in  the  community  not  easy  to  be  filled.  Though 
he  did  not  exhibit  the  highest  qualities  of  the 
scholar,  he  promised,  in  a  remarkable  degree, 
many  of  the  essential  and  rarer  ones ;  and  his 
patient  industry  and  energy,  his  reverent  love 
of  letters,  and  his  proverbial  accuracy,  will  cause 
him  to  be  associated  in  my  memory  even  with 
many  venerable  names  of  former  days.  It  was 
not  wholly  unfit  that  so  pure  a  lover  of  books 
should  have  ended  his  pilgrimage  at  the  great 
book-mart  of  the  world.  I  think  of  him  as 
healthy  and  brave,  and  am  confident  that  if  he 
had  lived,  he  would  have  proved  useful  in  more 


JET.  26.]  TO  MRS.    THOREAU.  117 

ways  than  I  can  describe.  He  would  have  been 
authority  on  all  matters  of  fact,  and  a  sort  of 
connecting  link  between  men  and  scholars  of 
different  walks  and  tastes.  The  literary  enter 
prises  he  was  planning  for  himself  and  friends 
remind  me  of  an  older  and  more  studious  time. 
So  much,  then,  remains  for  us  to  do  who  sur 
vive.  Love  to  all.  Tell  all  my  friends  in  Con 
cord  that  I  do  not  send  my  love,  but  retain  it 
still. 

Your  affectionate  brother. 

TO   MRS.    THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  August  6,  1843. 

DEAK  MOTHER,  —  As  Mr.  William  Emerson 
is  going  to  Concord  on  Tuesday,  I  must  not  omit 
sending  a  line  by  him,  —  though  I  wish  I  had 
something  more  weighty  for  so  direct  a  post.  I 
believe  I  directed  my  last  letter  to  you  by  mis 
take;  but  it  must  have  appeared  that  it  was 
addressed  to  Helen.  At  any  rate,  this  is  to  you 
without  mistake. 

I  am  chiefly  indebted  to  your  letters  for  what 
I  have  learned  of  Concord  and  family  news,  and 
am  very  glad  when  I  get  one.  I  should  have 
liked  to  be  in  Walden  woods  with  you,  but  not 
with  the  railroad.  I  think  of  you  all  very 
often,  and  wonder  if  you  are  still  separated 
from  me  only  by  so  many  miles  of  earth,  or 


118  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

so  many  miles  of  memory.  This  life  we  live 
is  a  strange  dream,  and  I  don't  believe  at 
all  any  account  men  give  of  it.  Methinks  I 
should  be  content  to  sit  at  the  back-door  in  Con 
cord,  under  the  poplar-tree,  henceforth  forever. 
Not  that  I  am  homesick  at  all,  —  for  places  are 
strangely  indifferent  to  me,  —  but  Concord  is 
still  a  cynosure  to  my.  eyes,  and  I  find  it  hard 
to  attach  it,  even  in  imagination,  to  the  rest  of 
the  globe,  and  tell  where  the  seam  is. 

I  fancy  that  this  Sunday  evening  you  are 
poring  over  some  select  book,  almost  transcen 
dental  perchance,  or  else  "  Burgh's  Dignity," 
or  Massillon,  or  the  "Christian  Examiner." 
Father  has  just  taken  one  more  look  at  the  gar 
den,  and  is  now  absorbed  in  Chaptelle,  or  read 
ing  the  newspaper  quite  abstractedly,  only  look 
ing  up  occasionally  over  his  spectacles  to  see 
how  the  rest  are  engaged,  and  not  to  miss  any 
newer  news  that  may  not  be  in  the  paper.  Helen 
has  slipped  in  for  the  fourth  time  to  learn  the 
very  latest  item.  Sophia,  I  suppose,  is  at  Ban- 
gor ;  but  Aunt  Louisa,  without  doubt,  is  just 
flitting  away  to  some  good  meeting,  to  save  the 
credit  of  you  all. 

It  is  still  a  cardinal  virtue  with  me  to  keep 
awake.  I  find  it  impossible  to  write  or  read 
except  at  rare  intervals,  but  am,  generally  speak 
ing,  tougher  than  formerly.  I  could  make  a 


2ET.26.]  TO  MRS.    THOREAU.  119 

pedestrian  tour  round  the  world,  and  sometimes 
think  it  would  perhaps  be  better  to  do  at  once 
the  things  I  ccm,  rather  than  be  trying  to  do 
what  at  present  I  cannot  do  well.  However,  I 
shall  awake  sooner  or  later. 

I  have  been  translating  some  Greek,  and 
reading  English  poetry,  and  a  month  ago  sent  a 
paper  to  the  "  Democratic  Review,"  which,  at 
length,  they  were  sorry  they  could  not  accept ; 
but  they  could  not  adopt  the  sentiments.  How 
ever,  they  were  very  polite,  and  earnest  that  I 
should  send  them  something  else,  or  reform 
that. 

I  go  moping  about  the  fields  and  woods  here 
as  I  did  in  Concord,  and,  it  seems,  am  thought 
to  be  a  surveyor,  —  an  Eastern  man  inquiring 
narrowly  into  the  condition  and  value  of  land, 
etc.,  here,  preparatory  to  an  extensive  specula 
tion.  One  neighbor  observed  to  me,  in  a  mys 
terious  and  half  inquisitive  way,  that  he  sup 
posed  I  must  be  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the 
state  of  things ;  that  I  kept  pretty  close  ;  he 
did  n't  see  any  surveying  instruments,  but  per 
haps  I  had  them  in  my  pocket. 

I  have  received  Helen's  note,  but  have  not 
heard  of  Frisbie  Hoar  yet.1  She  is  a  faint 
hearted  writer,  who  could  not  take  the  responsi* 

1  At  present  Senator  Hoar  of  Massachusetts,  but  then  in 
Harvard  College. 


120  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

bility  of  blotting  one  sheet  alone.     However,  I 
like  very  well  the  blottings  I  get.     Tell  her  I 
have  not  seen  Mrs.  Child  nor  Mrs.  Sedgwick. 
Love  to  all  from  your  affectionate  son. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEK  ISLAND,  August  7,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  fear  I  have  nothing 
to  send  you  worthy  of  so  good  an  opportunity. 
Of  New  York  I  still  know  but  little,  though 
out  of  so  many  thousands  there  are  no  doubt 
many  units  whom  it  would  be  worth  my  while 
to  know.  Mr.  James  l  talks  of  going  to  Ger 
many  soon  with  his  wife  to  learn  the  language. 
He  says  he  must  know  it ;  can  never  learn  it 
here  ;  there  he  may  absorb  it ;  and  is  very  anxious 
to  learn  beforehand  where  he  had  best  locate 
himself  to  enjoy  the  advantage  of  the  highest 
culture,  learn  the  language  in  its  purity,  and  not 
exceed  his  limited  means.  I  referred  him  to 
Longfellow.  Perhaps  you  can  help  him. 

I  have  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  Channing ; 
and  Greeley,  too,  it  was  refreshing  to  meet. 
They  were  both  much  pleased  with  your  criti 
cism  on  Carlyle,  but  thought  that  you  had  over 
looked  what  chiefly  concerned  them  in  the  book, 
—  its  practical  aim  and  merits. 

I  have  also  spent  some  pleasant  hours  with 

1  Henry  James,  Senior. 


2BT.26.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  121 

Waldo  and  Tappan  at  their  counting-room,  or 
rather  intelligence  office. 

I  must  still  reckon  myself  with  the  innumer 
able  army  of  invalids,  —  undoubtedly  in  a  fair 
field  they  would  rout  the  well,  —  though  I  am 
tougher  than  formerly.  Methinks  I  could  paint 
the  sleepy  god  more  truly  than  the  poets  have 
done,  from  more  intimate  experience.  Indeed, 
I  have  not  kept  my  eyes  very  steadily  open  to 
the  things  of  this  world  of  late,  and  hence  have 
little  to  report  concerning  them.  However,  I 
trust  the  awakening  will  come  before  the  last 
trump,  —  and  then  perhaps  I  may  remember 
some  of  my  dreams. 

I  study  the  aspects  of  commerce  at  its  Nar 
rows  here,  where  it  passes  in  review  before  me, 
and  this  seems  to  be  beginning  at  the  right  end 
to  understand  this  Babylon.  I  have  made  a  very 
rude  translation  of  the  Seven  against  Thebes, 
and  Pindar  too  I  have  looked  at,  and  wish  he 
was  better  worth  translating.  I  believe  even 
the  best  things  are  not  equal  to  their  fame. 
Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  translate  fame 
itself,  —  or  is  not  that  what  the  poets  themselves 
do  ?  However,  I  have  not  done  with  Pindar 
yet.  I  sent  a  long  article  on  Etzler's  book  to 
the  "  Democratic  Review  "  six  weeks  ago,  which 
at  length  they  have  determined  not  to  accept, 
as  they  could  not  subscribe  to  all  the  opinions, 


122  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

but  asked  for  other  matter,  —  purely  literary, 
I  suppose.  O'Sullivan  wrote  me  that  articles  of 
this  kind  have  to  be  referred  to  the  circle  who, 
it  seems,  are  represented  by  this  journal,  and 
said  something  about  "  collective  we  "  and  "  ho 
mogeneity." 

Pray  don't  think  of  Bradbury  &  Soden  1  any 
more,  — 

"  For  good  deed  done  through  praiere 
Is  sold  and  bought  too  dear,  I  wis, 
To  herte  that  of  great  valor  is." 

I  see  that  they  have  given  up  their  shop  here. 

Say  to  Mrs.  Emerson  that  I  am  glad  to  re 
member  how  she  too  dwells  there  in  Concord, 
and  shall  send  her  anon  some  of  the  thoughts 
that  belong  to  her.  As  for  Edith,  I  seem  to 
see  a  star  in  the  east  over  where  the  young  child 
is.  Remember  me  to  Mrs.  Brown. 

These  letters  for  the  most  part  explain  them- 

1  Emerson  had  written,  July  20,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
when  I  called  on  Bradbury  &  Soden,  nearly  a  month  ago, 
their  partner,  in  their  absence,  informed  me  that  they  could 
not  pay  you,  at  present,  any  part  of  their  debt  on  account  of 
the  Boston  Miscellany.  After  much  talking,  all  the  promise 
he  could  offer  was  '  that  within  a  year  it  would  probably  be 
paid,'  — •  a  probability  which  certainly  looks  very  slender. 
The  very  worst  thing  he  said  was  the  proposition  that  you 
should  take  your  payment  in  the  form  of  Boston  Miscellanies  ! 
I  shall  not  fail  to  refresh  their  memory  at  intervals." 


JET.  20.]        EMERSON  TO   THOREAU.  123 

selves,  with  the  aid  of  several  to  Thoreau's  fam 
ily,  which  the  purpose  of  Emerson,  in  1865,  to 
present  his  friend  in  a  stoical  character,  had  ex 
cluded  from  the  collection  then  printed.  Men 
tion  of  C.  S.  Wheeler  and  his  sad  death  in  Ger 
many  had  come  to  him  from  Emerson,  as  well 
as  from  his  own  family  at  Concord,  —  of  whose 
occupations  Thoreau  gives  so  genial  a  picture  in 
the  letter  of  August  6,  to  his  mother.  Emerson 
wrote :  "  You  will  have  read  and  heard  the  sad 
news  to  the  little  village  of  Lincoln,  of  Stearns 
Wheeler's  death.  Such  an  overthrow  to  the 
hopes  of  his  parents  made  me  think  more  of 
them  than  of  the  loss  the  community  will  suffer 
in  his  kindness,  diligence,  and  ingenuous  mind." 
He  died  at  Leipsic,  in  the  midst  of  Greek  stud 
ies  which  have  since  been  taken  up  and  carried 
farther  by  a  child  of  Concord,  Professor  Good 
win  of  the  same  university.  Henry  James, 
several  times  mentioned  in  the  correspondence, 
was  the  moral  and  theological  essayist  (father 
of  the  novelist  Henry  James,  and  the  distin 
guished  Professor  James  of  Harvard),  who  was 
so  striking  a  personality  in  the  Concord  and 
Cambridge  circle  for  many  years.  W.  H.  Chan- 
ning  was  a  Christian  Socialist  fifty  years  ago, 
—  cousin  of  Ellery  Charming,  and  nephew  and 
biographer  of  Dr.  Channing.  Both  he  and  Hor 
ace  Greeley  were  then  deeply  interested  in  the 


124  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Fourier ist  scheme  of  association,  one  develop 
ment  of  which  was  going  on.  at  Brook  Farm, 
under  direction  of  George  Ripley,  and  another, 
differing  in  design,  at  Fruitlands,  under  Bron- 
son  Alcott  and  Charles  Lane.  The  jocose  allu 
sions  of  Thoreau  to  his  Jones  ancestors  (the  de 
scendants  of  the  Tory  Colonel  Jones  of  Weston) 
had  this  foundation  in  fact,  —  that  his  uncle, 
Charles  Dunbar,  soon  to  be  named  in  connec 
tion  with  Daniel  Webster,  suffered  from  a  sort 
of  lethargy,  which  would  put  him  to  sleep  in  the 
midst  of  conversation.  Webster  had  been  re 
tained  in  the  once  famous  "  Wyman  case,"  of  a 
bank  officer  charged  with  fraud,  and  had  exerted 
his  great  forensic  talent  for  a  few  days  in  the 
Concord  court-house.  Emerson  wrote  Thoreau, 
"  You  will  have  heard  of  the  Wyman  trial,  and 
the  stir  it  made  in  the  village.  But  the  Cliff 
and  Walden  knew  nothing  of  that." 

TO   MRS.    THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

CASTLETON,  Tuesday,  August  29,  1843. 

DEAR  MOTHER,  —  Mr.  Emerson  has  just 
given  me  warning  that  he  is  about  to  send  to 
Concord,  which  I  will  endeavor  to  improve.  I 
am  a  great  deal  more  wakeful  than  I  was,  and 
growing  stout  in  other  respects,  —  so  that  I  may 
yet  accomplish  something  in  the  literary  way  ; 
indeed,  I  should  have  done  so  before  now  but 


SIT.  26.]  TO  MRS.    THOREAU.  125 

for  the  slowness  and  poverty  of  the  "  Reviews  " 
themselveSo  I  have  tried  sundry  methods  of 
earning  money  in  the  city,  of  late,  but  without 
success  :  have  rambled  into  every  bookseller's 
or  publisher's  house,  and  discussed  their  affairs 
with  them.  Some  propose  to  me  to  do  what  an 
honest  man  cannot.  Among  others  I  conversed 
with  the  Harpers  —  to  see  if  they  might  not  find 
me  useful  to  them ;  but  they  say  that  they  are 
making  $50,000  annually,  and  their  motto  is  to 
let  well  alone.  I  find  that  I  talk  with  these 
poor  men  as  if  I  were  over  head  and  ears  in 
business,  and  a  few  thousands  were  no  consider 
ation  with  me.  I  almost  reproach  myself  for 
bothering  them  so  to  no  purpose ;  but  it  is  a 
very  valuable  experience,  and  the  best  introduc 
tion  I  could  have. 

We  have  had  a  tremendous  rain  here  last 
Monday  night  and  Tuesday  morning.  I  was  in 
the  city  at  Giles  "Waldo's,  and  the  streets  at 
daybreak  were  absolutely  impassable  for  the 
water.  Yet  the  accounts  of  the  storm  that  you 
may  have  seen  are  exaggerated,  as  indeed  are 
all  such  things,  to  my  imagination.  On  Sunday 
I  heard  Mr.  Bellows  preach  here  on  the  island ; 
but  the  fine  prospect  over  the  Bay  and  Narrows, 
from  where  I  sat,  preached  louder  than  he, — 
though  he  did  far  better  than  the  average,  if  I 
remember  aright.  I  should  have  liked  to  see 


126  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Daniel  Webster  walking  about  Concord ;  I  sup 
pose  the  town  shook,  every  step  he  took.  But 
I  trust  there  were  some  sturdy  Concordians  who 
were  not  tumbled  down  by  the  jar,  but  repre 
sented  still  the  upright  town.  Where  was 
George  Minott  ?  he  would  not  have  gone  far  to 
see  him.  Uncle  Charles  should  have  been  there, 

—  he  might  as  well  have  been  catching  cat  naps 
in  Concord  as  anywhere. 

And  then,  what  a  whetter-up  of  his  memory 
this  event  would  have  been !  You  'd  have  had 
all  the  classmates  again  in  alphabetical  order 
reversed,  —  "  and  Seth  Hunt  and  Bob  Smith  — 
and  he  was  a  student  of  my  father's,  —  and 
where  's  Put  now  ?  and  I  wonder  —  you  —  if 
Henry 's  been  to  see  George  Jones  yet !  A  lit 
tle  account  with  Stow,  —  Balcom,  —  Bigelow, 
poor  miserable  t-o-a-d,  —  (sound  asleep.)  I  vow, 
you,  —  what  noise  was  that? — saving  grace  — 
and  few  there  be  —  That's  clear  as  preaching, 

—  Easter  Brooks,  —  morally  depraved,  —  How 
charming  is  divine  philosophy,  —  some  wise  and 
some    otherwise,  —  Heighho  !     (sound    asleep 
again)  Webster's  a  smart  fellow  —  bears  his  age 
well,  —  how  old  should  you  think  he  was  ?  you 
—  does  he  look  as  if  he  were  ten  years  younger 
than  I  ?  " 

I  met,  or  rather,  was  overtaken  by  Fuller,  who 
tended  for  Mr.  How,  the  other  day,  in  Broad- 


JET.  26.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  127 

way.  He  dislikes  New  York  very  much.  The 
Mercantile  Library, — that  is,  its  Librarian,  pre 
sented  me  with  a  stranger's  ticket,  for  a  month, 
and  I  was  glad  to  read  the  "  Re  views  "  there, 
and  Carlyle's  last  article.  I  have  bought  some 
pantaloons ;  stockings  show  no  holes  yet.  These 
pantaloons  cost  $2.25  ready  made. 
In  haste. 

TO   B.  W.  EMERSON    (AT   CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  September  14,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND, — Miss  Fuller  will  tell  you  the 
news  from  these  parts,  so  I  will  only  devote 
these  few  moments  to  what  she  does  n't  know  as 
well.  I  was  absent  only  one  day  and  night  from 
the  island,  the  family  expecting  me  back  imme 
diately.  I  was  to  earn  a  certain  sum  before 
winter,  and  thought  it  worth  the  while  to  try 
various  experiments.  I  carried  "  The  Agricul 
turist"  about  the  city,  and  up  as  far  as  Manhat- 
tanville,  and  called  at  the  Croton  Reservoir, 
where,  indeed,  they  did  not  want  any  "  Agricul 
turists,"  but  paid  well  enough  in  their  way. 

Literature  comes  to  a  poor  market  here ;  and 
even  the  little  that  I  write  is  more  than  will  sell. 
I  have  tried  "The  Dem.  Review,"  "The  New 
Mirror,"  and  "  Brother  Jonathan."  l  The  last 

1  It  may  need  to  be  said  that  these  were  New  York  week 
lies  —  the  Mirror,  edited  in  part  by  N.  P.  Willis,  and  the  New 


128  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

two,  as  well  as  the  "  New  World,"  are  over 
whelmed  with  contributions  which  cost  nothing, 
and  are  worth  no  more.  "  The  Knickerbocker  " 
is  too  poor,  and  only  "The  Ladies'  Companion" 
pays.  O' Sullivan  is  printing  the  manuscript  I 
sent  him  some  time  ago,  having  objected  only  to 
my  want  of  sympathy  with  the  Committee. 

I  doubt  if  you  have  made  more  corrections  in 
my  manuscript  than  I  should  have  done  ere  this, 
though  they  may  be  better ;  but  I  am  glad  you 
have  taken  any  pains  with  it.  I  have  not  pre 
pared  any  translations  for  the  "  Dial,"  supposing 
there  would  be  no  room,  though  it  is  the  only 
place  for  them. 

I  have  been  seeing  men  during  these  days, 
and  trying  experiments  upon  trees ;  have  in 
serted  three  or  four  hundred  buds  (quite  a 
Buddhist,  one  might  say).  Books  I  have  access 
to  through  your  brother  and  Mr.  McKean,  and 
have  read  a  good  deal.  Quarles's  "  Divine  Po 
ems  "  as  well  as  "  Emblems  "  are  quite  a  discov 
ery. 

I  am  very  sorry  Mrs.  Emerson  is  so  sick.  Re 
member  me  to  her  and  to  your  mother.  I  like 
to  think  of  your  living  on  the  banks  of  the  Mill- 

World  by  Park  Benjamin,  formerly  of  Boston,  whose  distinc 
tion  it  is  to  have  first  named  Hawthorne  as  a  writer  of  genius. 
"  Miss  Fuller  "  was  Margaret,  —  not  yet  resident  in  New  York, 
whither  she  went  to  live  in  1844. 


MT.  26.]  TO  HIS  MOTHER.  129 

brook,  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  with  all  its 
weeds ;  for  what  are  botanical  distinctions  at 
this  distance? 

TO   HIS   MOTHER   (AT   CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  October  1,  1843. 
DEAR  MOTHER,  —  I  hold  together  remarka 
bly  well  as  yet,  —  speaking  of  my  outward  linen 
and  woolen  man  ;  no  holes  more  than  I  brought 
away,  and  no  stitches  needed  yet.  It  is  mar 
velous.  I  think  the  Fates  must  be  on  my  side, 
for  there  is  less  than  a  plank  between  me  and  — 
Time,  to  say  the  least.  As  for  Eldorado,  that 
is  far  off  yet.  My  bait  will  not  tempt  the  rats, 
—  they  are  too  well  fed.  The  "  Democratic  Re 
view  "  is  poor,  and  can  only  afford  half  or  quar 
ter  pay,  which  it  will  do;  and  they  say  there 
is  a  "  Lady's  Companion"  that  pays, —  but  I 
could  not  write  anything  companionable.  How 
ever,  speculate  as  we  will,  it  is  quite  gratuitous; 
for  life,  nevertheless  and  never  the  more,  goes 
steadily  on,  well  or  ill-fed,  and  clothed  somehow, 
and  "  honor  bright  "  withal.  It  is  very  gratify 
ing  to  live  in  the  prospect  of  great  successes 
always ;  and  for  that  purpose  we  must  leave  a 
sufficient  foreground  to  see  them  through.  All 
the  painters  prefer  distant  prospects  for  the 
greater  breadth  of  view,  and  delicacy  of  tint. 
But  this  is  no  news,  and  describes  no  new  con 
ditions. 


130  YEARS  OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

Meanwhile  I  am  somnambulic  at  least,  —  stir 
ring  in  my  sleep  ;  indeed,  quite  awake.  I  read 
a  good  deal,  and  am  pretty  well  known  in  the 
libraries  of  New  York.  Am  in  with  the  libra 
rian  (one  Dr.  Forbes)  of  the  Society  Library, 
who  has  lately  been  to  Cambridge  to  learn  lib 
erality,  and  has  come  back  to  let  me  take  out 
some  un-take-out-able  books,  which  I  was  threat 
ening  to  read  on  the  spot.  And  Mr.  McKean, 
of  the  Mercantile  Library,  is  a  true  gentleman 
(a  former  tutor  of  mine),  and  offers  me  every 
privilege  there.  I  have  from  him  a  perpetual 
stranger's  ticket,  and  a  citizen's  rights  besides, 
—  all  which  privileges  I  pay  handsomely  for  by 
improving. 

A  canoe  race  "  came  off  "  on  the  Hudson  the 
other  day,  between  Chippeways  and  New  York 
ers,  which  must  have  been  as  moving  a  sight  as 
the  buffalo  hunt  which  I  witnessed.  But  canoes 
and  buffaloes  are  all  lost,  as  is  everything  here, 
in  the  mob.  It  is  only  the  people  have  come  to 
see  one  another.  Let  them  advertise  that  there 
will  be  a  gathering  at  Hoboken,  —  having  bar 
gained  with  the  ferryboats,  —  and  there  will  be, 
and  they  need  not  throw  in  the  buffaloes. 

I  have  crossed  the  bay  twenty  or  thirty  times, 
and  have  seen  a  great  many  immigrants  going 
up  to  the  city  for  the  first  time  :  Norwegians, 
who  carry  their  old-fashioned  farming-tools  to 


^ET.  26.]  TO  HIS  MOTHER.  131 

the  West  with  them,  and  will  buy  nothing  here 
for  fear  of  being  cheated  ;  English  operatives, 
known  by  their  pale  faces  and  stained  hands, 
who  will  recover  their  birthright  in  a  little  cheap 
sun  and  wind  ;  English  travelers  on  their  way 
to  the  Astor  House,  to  whom  I  have  done  the 
honors  of  the  city  ;  whole  families  of  emigrants 
cooking  their  dinner  upon  the  pavement,  —  all 
sunburnt,  so  that  you  are  in  doubt  where  the 
foreigner's  face  of  flesh  begins  ;  their  tidy  clothes 
laid  on,  and  then  tied  to  their  swathed  bodies, 
which  move  about  like  a  bandaged  finger, —  caps 
set  on  the  head  as  if  woven  of  the  hair,  which 
is  still  growing  at  the  roots,  —  each  and  all 
busily  cooking,  stooping  from  time  to  time  over 
the  pot,  and  having  something  to  drop  in  it,  that 
so  they  may  be  entitled  to  take  something  out, 
forsooth.  They  look  like  respectable  but  strait 
ened  people,  who  may  turn  out  to  be  Counts  when 
they  get  to  Wisconsin,  and  will  have  this  expe 
rience  to  relate  to  their  children. 

Seeing  so  many  people  from  day  to  day,  one 
comes  to  have  less  respect  for  flesh  and  bones, 
and  thinks  they  must  be  more  loosely  joined,  of 
less  firm  fibre,  than  the  few  he  had  known.  It 
must  have  a  very  bad  influence  on  children  to 
see  so  many  human  beings  at  once,  —  mere  herds 
of  men. 

I  came  across  Henry  Bigelow  a  week  ago,  sit- 


132  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 


ting  in  front  of  a  hotel  in  Broadway,  very  much 
as  if  he  were  under  his  father's  stoop.  He  is 
seeking  to  be  admitted  into  the  bar  in  New  York, 
but  as  yet  had  not  succeeded.  I  directed  him  to 
Fuller's  store,  which  he  had  not  found,  and  in 
vited  him  to  come  and  see  me  if  he  came  to  the 
island.  Tell  Mrs.  and  Miss  Ward  that  I  have 
not  forgotten  them,  and  was  glad  to  hear  from 
George  —  with  whom  I  spent  last  night  —  that 
they  had  returned  to  C.  Tell  Mrs.  Brown  that 
it  gives  me  as  much  pleasure  to  know  that  she 
thinks  of  me  and  my  writing  as  if  I  had  been 
the  author  of  the  piece  in  question,  —  but  I  did 
not  even  read  over  the  papers  I  sent.  The 
"  Mirror "  is  really  the  most  readable  journal 
here.  I  see  that  they  have  printed  a  short  piece 
that  I  wrote  to  sell,  in  the  "  Dem.  Review," 
and  still  keep  the  review  of  "  Paradise,"  that  I 
may  include  in  it  a  notice  of  another  book  by 
the  same  author,  which  they  have  found,  and  are 
going  to  send  me. 

I  don't  know  when  I  shall  come  home ;  I  like 
to  keep  that  feast  in  store.  Tell  Helen  that  I 
do  not  see  any  advertisement  for  her,  and  I  am 
looking  for  myself.  If  I  could  find  a  rare  open 
ing,  I  might  be  tempted  to  try  with  her  for  a 
year,  till  I  had  paid  my  debts,  but  for  such  I 
am  sure  it  is  not  well  to  go  out  of  New  Eng 
land.  Teachers  are  but  poorly  recompensed, 


2ET.26.]  TO  MRS.   EMERSON.  133 

even  here.  Tell  her  and  Sophia  (if  she  is  not 
gone)  to  write  to  me.  Father  will  know  that 
this  letter  is  to  him  as  well  as  to  you.  I  send 
him  a  paper  which  usually  contains  the  news,  — 
if  not  all  that  is  stirring,  all  that  has  stirred, 
—  and  even  draws  a  little  011  the  future.  I  wish 
he  would  send  me,  by  and  by,  the  paper  which 
contains  the  results  of  the  Cattle  Show.  You 
must  get  Helen's  eyes  to  read  this,  though  she 
is  a  scoffer  at  honest  penmanship. 

TO   MRS.    EMERSON    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  October  16,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  promised  you  some 
thoughts  long  ago,  but  it  would  be  hard  to  tell 
whether  these  are  the  ones.  I  suppose  that  the 
great  questions  «f  "  Fate,  Freewill,  Foreknow 
ledge  absolute,"  which  used  to  be  discussed  at 
Concord,  are  still  unsettled.  And  here  comes 
[W.  H.]  Channing,  with  his  "  Present,"  to  vex 
the  world  again,  —  a  rather  galvanic  movement, 
I  think.  However,  I  like  the  man  all  the  better, 
though  his  schemes  the  less.  I  am  sorry  for  his 
confessions.  Faith  never  makes  a  confession. 

Have  you  had  the  annual  berrying  party,  or 
sat  on  the  Cliffs  a  whole  day  'this  summer  ?  I 
suppose  the  flowers  have  fared  quite  as  well  since 
I  was  not  there  to  scoff  at  them ;  and  the  hens, 
without  doubt,  keep  up  their  reputation. 


134  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

I  have  been  reading  lately  what  of  Quarles's 
poetry  I  could  get.  He  was  a  contemporary  of 
Herbert,  and  a  kindred  spirit.  I  think  you 
would  like  him.  It  is  rare  to  find  one  who  was 
so  much  of  a  poet  and  so  little  of  an  artist.  He 
wrote  long  poems,  almost  epics  for  length,  about 
Jonah,  Esther,  Job,  Samson,  and  Solomon,  in 
terspersed  with  meditations  after  a  quite  original 
plan,  -  -  Shepherd's  Oracles,  Comedies,  Ro 
mances,  Fancies,  and  Meditations,  —  the  quin 
tessence  of  meditation,  —  and  Enchiridions  of 
Meditation  all  divine,  —  and  what  he  calls  his 
Morning  Muse  ;  besides  prose  works  as  curious 
as  the  rest.  He  was  an  unwearied  Christian, 
and  a  reformer  of  some  old  school  withal.  Hope 
lessly  quaint,  as  if  he  lived  all  alone  and  knew 
nobody  but  his  wife,  who  appears  to  have  rev 
erenced  him.  He  never  doubts  his  genius ;  it 
is  only  he  and  his  God  in  all  the  world.  He 
uses  language  sometimes  as  greatly  as  Shake 
speare  ;  and  though  there  is  not  much  straight 
grain  in  him,  there  is  plenty  of  tough,  crooked 
timber.  In  an  age  when  Herbert  is  revived, 
Quarles  surely  ought  not  to  be  forgotten. 

I  will  copy  a  few  such  sentences,  as  I  should 
read  to  you  if  there.  Mrs.  Brown,  too,  may 
find  some  nutriment  in  them. 

How  does  the  Saxon  Edith  do  ?  Can  you 
tell  yet  to  which  school  of  philosophy  she  be- 


2ET.2G.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  135 

longs,  —  whether  she  will  be  a  fair  saint  of  some 
Christian  order,  or  a  follower  of  Plato  and  the 
heathen?  Bid  Ellen  a  good-night  or  a  good- 
morning  from  me,  and  see  if  she  will  remember 
where  it  comes  from ;  and  remember  me  to  Mrs. 
Brown,  and  your  mother,  and  Elizabeth  Hoar. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (AT    CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  October  17,  1843. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  went  with  my  pupil 
to  the  Fair  of  the  American  Institute,  and  so 
lost  a  visit  from  Tappan,  whom  I  met  returning 
from  the  Island.  I  should  have  liked  to  hear 
more  news  from  his  lips,  though  he  had  left  me 
a  letter  and  the  "  Dial,"  which  is  a  sort  of  cir 
cular  letter  itself.  I  find  Chaniiing's l  letters 
full  of  life,  and  I  enjoy  their  wit  highly.  Lane 
writes  straight  and  solid,  like  a  guideboard,  but 
I  find  that  I  put  off  the  "  social  tendencies  "  to 
a  future  day,  which  may  never  come.  He  is 
always  Shaker  fare,  quite  as  luxurious  as  his 
principles  will  allow.  I  feel  as  if  I  were  ready 
to  be  appointed  a  committee  on  poetry,  I  have 

1  The  allusion  here  is  to  Ellery  Channing's  "  Youth  of  the 
Poet  and  Painter,"  in  the  Dial  —  an  unfinished  autobiography. 
The  Present  of  W.  H.  Channing1,  his  cousin,  named  above,  was 
a  short-lived  periodical,  begun  September  15,  1843,  and  ended 
in  April,  1844.  "  McKean  "  was  Henry  Swasey  McKean,  who 
was  a  classmate  of  Charles  Emerson  at  Harvard  in  1828,  a 
tutor  there  in  1830-35,  and  who  died  in  1857. 


136  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

got  my  eyes  so  whetted  and  proved  of  late,  like 
the  knife-sharpener  I  saw  at  the  Fair,  certified 
to  have  been  "  in  constant  use  in  a  gentleman's 
family  for  more  than  two  years."  Yes,  I  ride 
along  the  ranks  of  the  English  poets,  casting 
terrible  glances,  and  some  I  blot  out,  and  some 
I  spare.  McKean  has  imported,  within  the 
year,  several  new  editions  and  collections  of  old 
poetry,  of  which  I  have  the  reading,  but  there 
is  a  good  deal  of  chaff  to  a  little  meal,  —  hardly 
worth  bolting.  I  have  just  opened  Bacon's  "  Ad 
vancement  of  Learning  "  for  the  first  time,  which 
I  read  with  great  delight.  It  is  more  like  what 
Scott's  novels  were  than  anything. 

I  see  that  I  was  very  blind  to  send  you  my 
manuscript  in  such  a  state  ;  but  I  have  a  good 
second  sight,  at  least.  I  could  still  shake  it  in 
the  wind  to  some  advantage,  if  it  would  hold 
together.  There  are  some  sad  mistakes  in  the 
printing.  It  is  a  little  unfortunate  that  the 
"  Ethnical  Scriptures  "  should  hold  out  so  well, 
though  it  does  really  hold  out.  The  Bible  ought 
not  to  be  very  large.  Is  it  not  singular  that, 
while  the  religious  world  is  gradually  picking 
to  pieces  its  old  testaments,  here  are  some  com 
ing  slowly  after,  on  the  seashore,  picking  up  the 
durable  relics  of  perhaps  older  books,  and  put 
ting  them  together  again  ? 

Your  Letter  to  Contributors  is  excellent,  and 


aw.  26.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  137 

hits  the  nail  on  the  head.  It  will  taste  sour  to 
their  palates  at  first,  no  doubt,  but  it  will  bear 
a  sweet  fruit  at  last.  I  like  the  poetry,  espe 
cially  the  Autumn  verses.  They  ring  true. 
Though  I  am  quite  weather-beaten  with  poetry, 
having  weathered  so  many  epics  of  late.  The 
"  Sweep  Ho ! "  sounds  well  this  way.  But  I  have 
a  good  deal  of  fault  to  find  with  your  "  Ode  to 
Beauty."  The  tune  is  altogether  unworthy  of 
the  thoughts.  You  slope  too  quickly  to  the 
rhyme,  as  if  that  trick  had  better  be  performed 
as  soon  as  possible,  or  as  if  you  stood  over  the 
line  with  a  hatchet,  and  chopped  off  the  verses  as 
they  came  out,  some  short  and  some  long.  But 
give  us  a  long  reel,  and  we  '11  cut  it  up  to  suit 
ourselves.  It  sounds  like  parody.  "  Thee  knew 
I  of  old,"  "Remediless  thirst,"  are  some  of 
those  stereotyped  lines.  I  am  frequently  re 
minded,  I  believe,  of  Jane  Taylor's  "  Philoso 
pher's  Scales,"  and  how  the  world 

"  Flew  out  with  a  bounce," 

which 

"  Yerked  the  philosopher  out  of  his  cell ;  " 

or  else  of 

"  From  the  climes  of  the  sun  all  war-worn  and  weary." 

I  had  rather  have  the  thought  come  ushered 
with  a  flourish  of  oaths  and  curses.  Yet  I  love 
your  poetry  as  I  do  little  else  that  is  near  and 


138  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

recent,  especially  when  you  get  fairly  round  the 
end  of  the  line,  and  are  not  thrown  back  upon 
the  rocks.  To  read  the  lecture  on  "The  Comic" 
is  as  good  as  to  be  in  our  town  meeting  or  Ly 
ceum  once  more. 

I  am  glad  that  the  Concord  farmers  ploughed 
well  this  year  ;  it  promises  that  something  will 
be  done  these  summers.  But  I  am  suspicious  of 
that  Brittonner,  who  advertises  so  many  cords 
of  good  oak,  chestnut,  and  maple  wood  for  sale. 
Good  !  ay,  good  for  what  ?  And  there  shall  not 
be  left  a  stone  upon  a  stone.  But  no  matter,  — 
let  them  hack  away.  The  sturdy  Irish  arms  that 
do  the  work  are  of  more  worth  than  oak  or 
maple.  Methinks  I  could  look  with  equanimity 
upon  a  long  street  of  Irish  cabins,  and  pigs  and 
children  reveling  in  the  genial  Concord  dirt ;  and 
I  should  still  find  my  Walden  wood  and  Fair 
Haven  in  their  tanned  and  happy  faces. 

I  write  this  in  the  cornfield  —  it  being  wash 
ing-day  —  with  the  inkstand  Elizabeth  Hoar 
gave  me ; l  though  it  is  not  redolent  of  corn- 

1  This  inkstand  was  presented  by  Miss  Hoar,  with  a  note 
dated  "  Boston,  May  2, 1843,"  which  deserves  to  be  copied  :  — 

DEAR  HENRY,  —  The  rain  prevented  me  from  seeing1  you 
the  night  before  I  came  away,  to  leave  with  you  a  parting"  as 
surance  of  good  will  and  good  hope.  We  have  become  better 
acquainted  within  the  .two  past  years  than  in  our  whole  life  as 
schoolmates  and  neighbors  before  ;  and  I  am  unwilling  to  let 
you  go  away  without  telling  you  that  I,  among  your  other 


J5T.2G.]  THE  DIAL.  139 

stalks,  I  fear.  Let  me  not  be  forgotten  by 
Charming  and  Hawthorne,  nor  our  gray-suited 
neighbor  under  the  hill  [Edmund  Hosmer] . 

This  letter  will  be  best  explained  by  a  refer 
ence  to  the  "Dial"  for  October,  1843.  The 
"  Ethnical  Scriptures  "  were  selections  from  the 
Brahminical  books,  from  Confucius,  etc.,  such 
as  we  have  since  seen  in  great  abundance.  The 
Autumn  verses  are  by  Charming ;  "  Sweep 
Ho  !  "  by  Ellen  Sturgis,  afterwards  Mrs. 
Hooper  ;  the  "  Youth  of  the  Poet  and  Painter  " 
also  by  Charming.  The  Letter  to  Contributors, 
which  is  headed  simply  "A  Letter,"  is  by  Em 
erson,  and  has  been  much  overlooked  by  his 
later  readers ;  his  "  Ode  to  Beauty  "  is  very  well 
known,  and  does  not  deserve  the  slashing  cen 
sure  of  Thoreau,  though,  as  it  now  stands,  it  is 
better  than  first  printed.  Instead  of 

friends,  shall  miss  you  much,  and  follow  you  with  remem 
brance  and  all  best  wishes  and  confidence.  Will  you  take  this 
little  inkstand  and  try  if  it  will  carry  ink  safely  from  Concord 
to  Staten  Island  ?  and  the  pen,  which,  if  you  can  write  with 
steel,  may  be  made  sometimes  the  interpreter  of  friendly 
thoughts  to  those  whom  you  leave  beyond  the  reach  of  your 
voice,  —  or  record  the  inspirations  of  Nature,  who,  I  doubt 
not,  will  be  as  faithful  to  you  who  trust  her  in  the  sea-girt 
Staten  Island  as  in  Concord  woods  and  meadows.  Good-by, 
and  eS  trparreiv,  which,  a  wise  man  says,  is  the  only  salutation 
fit  for  the  wise. 

Truly  your  friend,  E.  HOAR. 


140  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843, 

"  Love  drinks  at  thy  banquet 
Remediless  thirst," 

we  now  have  the  perfect  phrase, 

"Love  drinks  at  thy  fountain 
False  waters  of  thirst" 

"The  Comic"  is  also  Emerson's.  There  is  a 
poem,  "  The  Sail,"  by  William  Tappan,  so  often 
named  in  these  letters,  and  a  sonnet  by  Charles 
A.  Dana,  now  of  the  "  New  York  Sun." 

TO   HELEN   THOREAU    (AT   CONCORD). 

STATEN  ISLAND,  October  18,  1843. 

DEAR  HELEN,  —  What  do  you  mean  by  say 
ing  that  "  we  have  written  eight  times  by  private 
opportunity"?  Isn't  it  the  more  the  better? 
And  am  I  not  glad  of  it  ?  But  people  have  a 
habit  of  not  letting  me  know  it  when  they  go  to 
Concord  from  New  York.  I  endeavored  to  get 
you  "The  Present"  when  I  was  last  in  the  city, 
but  they  were  all  sold  ;  and  now  another  is  out, 
which  I  will  send,  if  I  get  it.  I  did  not  send  the 
"  Democratic  Review,"  because  I  had  no  copy, 
and  my  piece  was  not  worth  fifty  cents.  You 
think  that  Channing's  words  would  apply  to  me 
too,  as  living  more  in  the  natural  than  the  moral 
world ;  but  I  think  that  you  mean  the  world  of 
men  and  women  rather,  and  reformers  generally. 
My  objection  to  Channing  and  all  that  f rater- 


jsT.26.]  TO  HELEN   THOREAU.  141 

nity  is,  that  they  need  and  deserve  sympathy 
themselves  rather  than  are  able  to  render  it  to 
others.  They  want  faith,  and  mistake  their  pri 
vate  ail  for  an  infected  atmosphere ;  but  let  any 
one  of  them  recover  hope  for  a  moment,  and 
right  his  particular  grievance,  and  he  will  no 
longer  train  in  that  company.  To  speak  or  do 
anything  that  shall  concern  mankind,  one  must 
speak  and  act  as  if  well,  or  from  that  grain  of 
health  which  he  has  left.  This  "  Present "  book 
indeed  is  blue,  but  the  hue  of  its  thoughts  is 
yellow.  I  say  these  things  with  the  less  hesita 
tion,  because  I  have  the  jaundice  myself  ;  but  I 
also  know  what  it  is  to  be  well.  But  do  not 
think  that  one  can  escape  from  mankind  who  is 
one  of  them,  and  is  so  constantly  dealing  with 
them. 

I  could  not  undertake  to  form  a  nucleus  of  an 
institution  for  the  development  of  infant  minds, 
where  none  already  existed.  It  would  be  too 
cruel.  And  then,  as  if  looking  all  this  while  one 
way  with  benevolence,  to  walk  off  another  about 
one's  own  affairs  suddenly  !  Something  of  this 
kind  is  an  unavoidable  objection  to  that. 

I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  such  bad  news  about 
Aunt  Maria ;  but  I  think  that  the  worst  is  al 
ways  the  least  to  be  apprehended,  for  nature  is 
averse  to  it  as  well  as  we.  I  trust  to  hear  that 
she  is  quite  well  soon.  I  send  love  to  her  and 


142  YEARS   OF  DISCIPLINE.  [1843. 

Aunt  Jane.  For  three  months  I  have  not  known 
whether  to  think  of  Sophia  as  in  Bangor  or  Con 
cord,  and  now  you  say  that  she  is  going  directly. 
Tell  her  to  write  to  me,  and  establish  her  where 
abouts,  and  also  to  get  well  directly.  And  see 
that  she  has  something  worthy  to  do  when  she 
gets  down  there,  for  that 's  the  best  remedy  for 
disease. 

.     Your  affectionate  brother, 

H.  D.  THOREAU. 


II.    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT. 

THIS  was  the  golden  age  of  hope  and  achieve 
ment  for  the  Concord  poets  and  philosophers. 
Their  ranks  were  not  yet  broken  by  death  (for 
Stearns  Wheeler  was  hardly  one  of  them),  their 
spirits  were  high,  and  their  faith  in  each  other 
unbounded.  Emerson  wrote  thus  from  Concord, 
while  Thoreau  was  perambulating  Staten  Island 
and  calling  on  "  the  false  booksellers :  "  "  Ellery 
Charming  is  excellent  company,  and  we  walk  in 
all  directions.  He  remembers  you  with  great 
faith  and  hope ;  thinks  you  ought  not  to  see 
Concord  again  these  ten  years  —  that  you  ought 
to  grind  up  fifty  Concords  in  your  mill  —  and 
much  other  opinion  and  counsel  he  holds  in  store 
on  this  topic.  Hawthorne  walked  with  me  yes 
terday  afternoon,  and  not  until  after  our  return 
did  I  read  his  '  Celestial  Railroad,'  which  has  a 
serene  strength  which  we  cannot  afford  not  to 
praise,  in  this  low  life." 

The  Transcendentalists  had  their  "  Quarterly," 
and  even  their  daily  organ,  for  Mr.  Greeley  put 
the  "  Tribune  "  at  their  service,  and  gave  places 


144    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1845, 

on  its  staff  to  Margaret  Fuller  and  her  brother- 
in-law  Chamiing,  and  would  gladly  have  made 
room  for  Emerson  in  its  columns,  if  the  swift 
utterance  of  a  morning  paper  had  suited  his 
habit  of  publication.  While  in  the  "  Tribune  " 
office,  Ellery  Chamiing  thus  wrote  to  Thoreau, 
after  he  had  returned  home,  disappointed  with 
New  York,  to  make  lead  pencils  in  his  father's 
shop  at  Concord. 

ELLERY    CHANNING    TO    THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

March  5,  1845. 

MY  DEAR  THOREAU,  —  The  handwriting  of 
your  letter  is  so  miserable  that  I  am  not  sure  I 
have  made  it  out.  If  I  have,  it  seems  to  me  you 
are  the  same  old  sixpence  you  used  to  be,  rather 
rusty,  but  a  genuine  piece.  I  see  nothing  for 
you  in  this  earth  but  that  field  which  I  once 
christened  "  Briars ; "  go  out  upon  that,  build 
yourself  a  hut,  and  there  begin  the  grand  pro 
cess  of  devouring  yourself  alive.  I  see  no  alter 
native,  no  other  hope  for  you.  Eat  yourself 
up  ;  you  will  eat  nobody  else,  nor  anything  else. 
Concord  is  just  as  good  a  place  as  any  other ; 
there  are,  indeed,  more  people  in  the  streets  of 
that  village  than  in  the  streets  of  this.  This  is 
a  singularly  muddy  town  ;  muddy,  solitary,  and 
silent. 

In  your  line,  I  have  not  done  a  great  deal 


&r.  27.]         CHANNING   TO   THOREAU:  145 

since  I  arrived  here ;  I  do  not  mean  the  Pencil 
line,  but  the  Staten  Island  line,  having  been 
there  once,  to  walk  on  a  beach  by  the  tele 
graph,  but  did  not  visit  the  scene  of  your  do 
minical  duties.  Staten  Island  is  very  distant 
from  No.  30  Ann  Street.  I  saw  polite  William 
Emerson  in  November  last,  but  have  not  caught 
any  glimpse  of  him  since  then.  I  am  as  usual 
suffering  the  various  alternations  from  agony  to 
despair,  from  hope  to  fear,  from  pain  to  pleas 
ure.  Such  wretched  one-sided  productions  as 
you  know  nothing  of  the  universal  man;  you 
may  think  yourself  well  off. 

That  baker,  Hecker,  who  used  to  live  on  two 
crackers  a  day,  I  have  not  seen ;  nor  Black,  nor 
Vethake,  nor  Danesaz,  nor  Rynders,  nor  any  of 
Emerson's  old  cronies,  excepting  James,  a  lit 
tle  fat,  rosy  Swedenborgian  amateur,  with  the 
look  of  a  broker,  and  the  brains  and  heart  of 
a  Pascal.  William  Charming,  I  see  nothing 
of  him ;  he  is  the  dupe  of  good  feelings,  and  I 
have  all-too-many  of  these  now.  I  have  seen 
something  of  your  friends,  Waldo  and  Tappan, 
and  have  also  seen  our  good  man  McKean, 
the  keeper  of  that  stupid  place,  the  Mercantile 
Library. 

Acting  on  Channing's  hint,  and  an  old  fancy 
of  his  own,  Thoreau,  in  the  summer  of  1845, 


146    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1843, 

built  his  cabin  at  Walden  and  retired  there ; 
while  Hawthorne  entered  the  Salem  Custom 
house,  and  Alcott,  returning  defeated  from  his 
Fruitlands  paradise,  was  struggling  with  poverty 
and  discouragement  at  Concord.  Charles  Lane, 
his  English  comrade,  withdrew  to  New  York  or 
its  vicinity,  and  in  1846  to  London,  whence  he 
had  come  in  1842,  full  of  hope  and  enthusiasm. 
A  few  notes  of  his,  or  about  him,  may  here  find 
place.  They  were  sent  to  Thoreau  at  Concord, 
and  show  that  Lane  continued  to  value  his  can 
did  friend.  The  first,  written  after  leaving 
Fruitlands,  introduces  the  late  Father  Hecker, 
who  had  been  one  of  the  family  there,  to  Tho 
reau.  The  second  and  third  relate  to  the  sale 
of  the  Alcott-Lane  library,  and  other  matters. 

CHARLES    LANE    TO   THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 
BOSTON,  December  3,  1843. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  As  well  as  my  Avounded 
hands  permit,  I  have  scribbled  something  for 
friend  Hecker,  which  if  agreeable  may  be  the 
opportunity  for  entering  into  closer  relations 
with  him;  a  course  I  think  likely  to  be  mutually 
encouraging,  as  well  as  beneficial  to  all  men. 
But  let  it  reach  him  in  the  manner  most  con 
formable  to  your  own  feelings.  That  from  all 
perils  of  a  false  position  you  may  shortly  be  re 
lieved,  and  landed  in  the  position  where  you  feel 


JET.  28.]    CHARLES  LANE   TO   THOEEAU.     147 

"  at  home,"  is  the  sincere  wish  of  yours  most 
friendly, 

CHARLES  LANE. 

MR.  HENRY  THOREAU, 
Earl  House,  Coach  Office. 

NEW  YORK,  February  17,  1846. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  The  books  you  were  so  kind 
as  to  deposit  about  two  years  and  a  half  ago 
with  Messrs.  Wiley  &  Putnam  have  all  been 
sold,  but  as  they  were  left  in  your  name  it  is 
needful,  in  strict  business,  that  you  should  send 
an  order  to  them  to  pay  to  me  the  amount  due. 
I  will  therefore  thank  you  to  inclose  me  such 
an  order  at  your  earliest  convenience  in  a  letter 
addressed  to  your  admiring  friend, 

CHARLES  LANE, 
Post  Office,  New  York  City. 

BOONTON,  N.  J.,  March  30,  1846. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  If  the  human  nature  parti 
cipates  of  the  elemental  I  am  no  longer  in  dan 
ger  of  becoming  suburban,  or  super-urban,  that 
is  to  say,  too  urbane.  I  am  now  more  likely  to 
be  converted  into  a  petrifaction,  for  slabs  of  rock 
and  foaming  waters  never  so  abounded  in  my 
neighborhood.  A  very  Peter  I  shall  become : 
on  this  rock  He  has  built  Ms  church.  You 
would  find  much  joy  in  these  eminences  and  in 
the  views  therefrom. 


148    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1846, 

My  pen  has  been  necessarily  unproductive  in 
the  continued  motion  of  the  sphere  in  which  I 
have  lately  been  moved.  You,  I  suppose,  have 
not  passed  the  winter  to  the  world's  unprofit. 

You  never  have  seen,  as  I  have,  the  book  with 
a  preface  of  450  pages  and  a  text  of  60.  My 
letter  is  like  unto  it. 

I  have  only  to  add  that  your  letter  of  the  26th 
February  did  its  work,  and  that  I  submit  to  you 
cordial  thanks  for  the  same. 

Yours  truly, 

CHAS.  LANE. 

I  hope  to  hear  occasionally  of  your  doings 
and  those  of  your  compeers  in  your  classic 
ploughings  and  diggings. 

To  HENRY  D.  THOBEAU, 
Concord  Woods. 

Thoreau's  letters  to  Lane  have  not  come  into 
any  editor's  hands.  In  England,  before  Lane's 
discovery  by  Alcott,  in  1842,  he  had  been  the 
editor  of  the  "  Mark-Lane  Gazette  "  (or  some 
thing  similar),  which  gave  the  price-current  of 
wheat,  etc.,  in  the  English  markets.  Emerson 
found  him  in  Hampstead,  London,  in  February, 
1848,  and  wrote  to  Thoreau :  "  I  went  last  Sun 
day,  for  the  first  time,  to  see  Lane  at  Hamp 
stead,  and  dined  with  him.  He  was  full  of 


2ET.30.]          EMERSON  TO   THOREAU.  149 

friendliness  and  hospitality ;  has  a  school  of  six 
teen  children,  one  lady  as  matron,  then  Oldham. 
That  is  all  the  household.  They  looked  just 
comfortable." 

"  Lane  instructed  me  to  ask  you  to  forward 
his  '  Dials '  to  him,  which  must  be  done,  if  you 
can  find  them.  Three  bound  volumes  are  among 
his  books  in  my  library.  The  fourth  volume  is 
in  unbound  numbers  at  J.  Munroe  &  Co.'s  shop, 
received  there  in  a  parcel  to  my  address,  a  day 
or  two  before  I  sailed,  and  which  I  forgot  to 
carry  to  Concord.  It  must  be  claimed  without 
delay.  It  is  certainly  there,  —  was  opened  by 
me  and  left ;  and  they  can  inclose  all  four  vol 
umes  to  Chapman  for  me." 

This  would  indicate  that  he  had  not  lost  in 
terest  in  the  days  and  events  of  his  American 
sojourn,  —  unpleasant  as  some  of  these  must 
have  been  to  the  methodical,  prosaic  English 
man. 

While  at  Walclen,  Thoreau  wrote  but  few  let 
ters  ;  there  is,  however,  a  brief  correspondence 
with  Mr.  J.  E.  Cabot,  then  an  active  naturalist, 
cooperating  with  Agassiz  in  his  work  on  the 
American  fishes,  who  had  requested  Thoreau  to 
procure  certain  species  from  Concord.  The  let 
ters  were  written  from  the  cabin  at  Walden, 
and  it  is  this  same  structure  that  figures  in  the 
letters  from  Thoreau  to  Emerson  in  England, 


150    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

as  the  proposed  nucleus  of  the  cottage  of  poor 
Hugh  the  gardener,  before  he  ran  away  from 
Concord,  as  there  narrated,  on  a  subsequent 
page.  The  first  sending  of  river-fish  was  in  the 
end  of  April,  1847.  Then  followed  this  let 
ter  :- 

TO   ELLIOT    CABOT    (AT   BOSTON). 

CONCORD,  May  8,  1847. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  believe  that  I  have  not  yet 
acknowledged  the  receipt  of  your  notes,  and  a 
five  dollar  bill.  I  am  very  glad  that  the  fishes 
afforded  Mr.  Agassiz  so  much  pleasure.  I  could 
easily  have  obtained  more  specimens  of  the  Ster- 
notliaerus  odoratus  ;  they  are  quite  numerous 
here.  I  will  send  more  of  them  erelong.  Snap 
ping  turtles  are  perhaps  as  frequently  met  with 
in  our  muddy  river  as  anything,  but  they  are 
not  always  to  be  had  when  wanted.  It  is  now 
rather  late  in  the  season  for  them.  As  no  one 
makes  a  business  of  seeking  them,  and  they  are 
valued  for  soups,  science  may  be  forestalled  by 
appetite  in  this  market,  and  it  will  be  necessary 
to  bid  pretty  high  to  induce  persons  to  obtain 
or  preserve  them.  I  think  that  from  seventy- 
five  cents  to  a  dollar  apiece  would  secure  all 
that  are  in  any  case  to  be  had,  and  will  set  this 
price  upon  their  heads,  if  the  treasury  of  science 
is  full  enough  to  warrant  it. 


*2T.29.]  TO  ELLIOT  CABOT.  151 

You  will  excuse  me  for  taking  toll  in  the 
shape  of  some,  it  may  be,  impertinent  and  unsci 
entific  inquiries.  There  are  found  in  the  waters 
of  the  Concord,  so  far  as  I  know,  the  following 
kinds  of  fishes  :  — 

Pickerel.  Besides  the  common,  fishermen  dis 
tinguish  the  Brook,  or  Grass  Pickerel,  which  bites 
differently,  and  has  a  shorter  snout.  Those 
caught  in  Walden,  hard  by  my  house,  are  easily 
distinguished  from  those  caught  in  the  river, 
being  much  heavier  in  proportion  to  their  size, 
stouter,  firmer  fleshed,  and  lighter  colored.  The 
little  pickerel  which  I  sent  last,  jumped  into  the 
boat  in  its  fright. 

Pouts.  Those  in  the  pond  are  of  different 
appearance  from  those  that  I  have  sent. 

Breams.  Some  more  green,  others  more 
brown. 

Suckers.  The  horned,  which  I  sent  first,  and 
the  black.  I  am  not  sure  whether  the  Common 
or  Boston  sucker  is  found  here.  Are  the  three 
which  I  sent  last,  which  were  speared  in  the  river, 
identical  with  the  three  Hack  suckers,  taken  by 
hand  in  the  brook,  which  I  sent  before  ?  I  have 
never  examined  them  minutely. 

Perch.  The  river  perch,  of  which  I  sent  five 
specimens  in  the  box,  are  darker  colored  than 
those  found  in  the  pond.  There  are  myriads  of 
small  ones  in  the  latter  place,  and  but  few  large 


152    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

ones.  I  have  counted  ten  transverse  bands  on 
some  of  the  smaller. 

Lampreys.  Very  scarce  since  the  dams  at 
Lowell  and  Billerica  were  built. 

Shiners.  Leuciscus  chrysoleucas,  silver  and 
golden. 

What  is  the  difference  ? 

Roach  or  Chiverin,  Leuciscus  pulchellus, 
argenteus,  or  what  not.  The  white  and  the  red. 
The  former  described  by  Storer,  but  the  latter, 
which  deserves  distinct  notice,  not  described,  to 
my  knowledge.  Are  the  minnows  (called  here 
dace),  of  which  I  sent  three  live  specimens,  I 
believe,  one  larger  and  two  smaller,  the  young  of 
this  species? 

Trout.  Of  different  appearance  in  different 
brooks  in  this  neighborhood. 

Eels. 

Red-Jinned  Minnows,  of  which  I  sent  you  a 
dozen  alive.  I  have  never  recognized  them  in 
any  books.  Have  they  any  scientific  name  ? 

If  convenient,  will  you  let  Dr.  Storer  see 
these  brook  minnows  ?  There  is  also  a  kind  of 
dace  or  fresh-water  smelt  in  the  pond,  which  is, 
perhaps,  distinct  from  any  of  the  above.  What 
of  the  above  does  M.  Agassiz  particularly  wish 
to  see  ?  Does  he  want  more  specimens  of  kinds 
which  I  have  already  sent  ?  There  are  also 
minks,  muskrats,  frogs,  lizards,  tortoise,  snakes, 


JET.  29.]  TO  ELLIOT  CABOT.  153 

caddice-worms,  leeches,  muscles,  etc.,  or  rather, 
here  they  are.  The  funds  which  you  sent  me 
are  nearly  exhausted.  Most  fishes  can  now  be 
taken  with  the  hook,  and  it  will  cost  but  little 
trouble  or  money  to  obtain  them.  The  snapping 
turtles  will  be  the  main  expense.  I  should  think 
that  five  dollars  more,  at  least,  might  be  profita 
bly  expended. 

TO   ELLIOT    CABOT    (AT   BOSTON). 

CONCORD,  June  1,  1847. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  send  you  15  pouts,  17  perch, 
13  shiners,  1  larger  land  tortoise,  and  5  muddy 
tortoises,  all  from  the  pond  by  my  house.  Also 
7  perch,  5  shiners,  8  breams,  4  dace  ?  2  muddy 
tortoises,  5  painted  do.,  and  3  land  do.,  all  from 
the  river.  One  black  snake,  alive,  and  one  dor 
mouse?  caught  last  night  in  my  cellar.  The 
tortoises  were  all  put  in  alive ;  the  fishes  were 
alive  yesterday,  i.  e.,  Monday,  and  some  this 
morning.  Observe  the  difference  between  those 
from  the  pond,  which  is  pure  water,  and  those 
from  the  river. 

I  will  send  the  light-colored  trout  and  the 
pickerel  with  the  longer  snout,  which  is  our 
large  one,  when  I  meet  with  them.  I  have  set  a 
price  upon  the  heads  of  snapping  turtles,  though 
it  is  late  in  the  season  to  get  them. 

If  I  wrote  red-firmed  eel,  it  was  a  slip  of  the 


154     GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.   [1847, 

pen ;  I  meant  red-finned  minnow.  This  is  their 
name  here ;  though  smaller  specimens  have  but 
a  slight  reddish  tinge  at  the  base  of  the  pecto 
rals. 

Will  you,  at  your  leisure,  answer  these  queries  ? 

Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  twelve  banded 
minnows  which  I  sent  are  undescribed,  or  only 
one?  What  are  the  scientific  names  of  those 
minnows  which  have  any  ?  Are  the  four  dace  I 
send  to-day  identical  with  one  of  the  former,  and 
what  are  they  called  ?  Is  there  such  a  fish  as 
the  black  sucker  described,  —  distinct  from  the 
common  ? 

AGASSIZ   TO  THOREAU    (AT    CONCORD). 

In  October,  1849,  Agassiz,  in  reply  to  a  re 
quest  from  Thoreau  that  he  would  lecture  in 
Bangor,  sent  this  characteristic  letter :  — 

"  I  remember  with  much  pleasure  the  time 
when  you  used  to  send  me  specimens  from  your 
vicinity,  and  also  our  short  interview  in  the 
Marlborough  Chapel.1  I  am  under  too  many 
obligations  of  your  kindness  to  forget  it.  I  am 
very  sorry  that  I  missed  your  visit  in  Boston ; 
but  for  eighteen  months  I  have  now  been  settled 
in  Cambridge.  It  would  give  me  great  pleasure 
to  engage  for  the  lectures  you  ask  from  me  for 
the  Bangor  Lyceum ;  but  I  find  it  has  been  last 

1  Where  Agassiz  was  giving-  a  course  of  Lowell  lectures. 


asT.32.]          AGASSIZ   TO   THOREAU.  155 

winter  such  a  heavy  tax  upon  my  health,  that  I 
wish  for  the  present  to  make  no  engagements ; 
as  I  have  some  hope  of  making  my  living  this 
year  by  other  efforts,  —  and  beyond  the  neces 
sity  of  my  wants,  both  domestic  and  scientific, 
I  am  determined  not  to  exert  myself ;  as  all  the 
time  I  can  thus  secure  to  myself  must  be  exclu 
sively  devoted  to  science.  My  only  business  is 
my  intercourse  with  nature  ;  and  could  I  do  with 
out  draughtsmen,  lithographers,  etc.,  I  would 
live  still  more  retired.  This  will  satisfy  you  that 
whenever  you  come  this  way,  I  shall  be  delighted 
to  see  you,  —  since  I  have  also  heard  something 
of  your  mode  of  living." 

Agassiz  had  reason  indeed  to  remember  the 
collections  made  by  Thoreau,  since  (from  the 
letters  of  Mr.  Cabot)  they  aided  him  much  in 
his  comparison  of  the  American  with  the  Eu 
ropean  fishes.  When  the  first  firkin  of  Concord 
fish  arrived  in  Boston,  where  Agassiz  was  then 
working,  "  he  was  highly  delighted,  and  began 
immediately  to  spread  them  out  and  arrange 
them  for  his  draughtsman.  Some  of  the  species 
he  had  seen  before,  but  never  in  so  fresh  con 
dition  ;  others,  as  the  breams  and  the  pout,  he 
had  seen  only  in  spirits,  and  the  little  tortoise  he 
knew  only  from  the  books.  I  am  sure  you  would 
have  felt  fully  repaid  for  your  trouble,"  adds 


156     GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.   [1847, 

Mr.  Cabot,  "  if  you  could  have  seen  the  eager 
satisfaction  with  which  he  surveyed  each  fin  and 
scale."  Agassiz  himself  wrote  the  same  day : 
"  I  have  been  highly  pleased  to  find  that  the 
small  mud  turtle  was  really  the  Sternotliaerus 
odoratus,  as  I  suspected,  —  a  very  rare  species, 
quite  distinct  from  the  snapping  turtle.  The 
suckers  were  all  of  one  and  the  same  species 
(  Catastomus  tuberculatus)  ;  the  female  has  the 
tubercles.  As  I  am  very  anxious  to  send  some 
snapping  turtles  home  with  my  first  boxes,  I 
would  thank  Mr.  T.  very  much  if  he  could  have 
some  taken  for  me." 

Mr.  Cabot  goes  on :  "  Of  the  perch  Agassiz 
remarked  that  it  was  almost  identical  with  that 
of  Europe,  but  distinguishable,  on  close  exami 
nation,  by  the  tubercles  on  the  sub-operculum. 
.  .  .  More  of  the  painted  tortoises  would  be 
acceptable.  The  snapping  turtles  are  very  in 
teresting  to  him  as  forming  a  transition  from 
the  turtles  proper  to  the  alligator  and  crocodile. 
.  .  .  We  have  received  three  boxes  from  you 
since  the  first."  (May  27.)  "  Agassiz  was  much 
surprised  and  pleased  at  the  extent  of  the  col 
lections  you  sent  during  his  absence  in  New 
York.  Among  the  fishes  there  is  one,  and  prob 
ably  two,  new  species.  The  fresh-water  smelt 
he  does  not  know.  He  is  very  anxious  to  see 
the  pickerel  with  the  long  snout,  which  he  sus- 


JET.  29.}  CABOT  TO   THOREAU.  157 

pects  may  be  the  Esox  estor,  or  Maskalonge  ; 
he  has  seen  this  at  Albany.  ...  As  to  the 
minks,  etc.,  I  know  they  would  all  be  very  ac 
ceptable  to  him.  When  I  asked  him  about 
these,  and  more  specimens  of  what  you  have 
sent,  he  said,  '  I  dare  not  make  any  request,  for 
I  do  not  know  how  much  trouble  I  may  be 
giving  to  Mr.  Thoreau  ;  but  my  method  of  ex 
amination  requires  many  more  specimens  than 
most  naturalists  would  care  for."  (June  1.) 
"  Agassiz  is  delighted  to  find  one,  and  he  thinks 
two,  more  new  species  ;  one  is  a  Pomotis,  —  the 
bream  without  the  red  spot  in  the  operculum, 
and  with  a  red  belly  and  fins.  The  other  is  the 
shallower  and  lighter  colored  shiner.  The  four 
dace  you  sent  last  are  Leuciscus  argenteus. 
They  are  different  from  that  you  sent  before 
under  this  name,  but  which  was  a  new  species. 
Of  the  four  kinds  of  minnow,  two  are  new. 
There  is  a  black  sucker  {Catastomus  nigri- 
cans),  but  there  has  been  no  specimen  among 
those  you  have  sent,  and  A.  has  never  seen  a 
specimen.  He  seemed  to  know  your  mouse,  and 
called  it  the  white-bellied  mouse.  It  was  the 
first  specimen  he  had  seen.  I  am  in  hopes  to 
bring  or  send  him  to  Concord,  to  look  after  new 
Leucisci,  etc."  Agassiz  did  afterwards  come, 
more  than  once,  and  examined  turtles  with  Tho 
reau. 


158    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

Soon  after  this  scientific  correspondence,  Tho- 
reau  left  his  retreat  by  Walden  to  take  the  place 
of  Emerson  in  his  household,  while  his  friend 
went  to  visit  Carlyle  and  give  lectures  in  Eng 
land.  The  letters  that  follow  are  among  the 
longest  Thoreau  ever  composed,  and  will  give  a 
new  conception  of  the  writer  to  those  who  may 
have  figured  him  as  a  cold,  stoical,  or  selfish 
person,  withdrawn  from  society  and  its  duties. 
The  first  describes  the  setting  out  of  Emerson 
for  Europe. 

TO   SOPHIA   THOREAU    (AT   BANGOR). 

CONCORD,  October  24,  1847. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  I  thank  you  for  those  let 
ters  about  Ktaadn,  and  hope  you  will  save  and 
send  me  the  rest,  and  anything  else  you  may 
meet  with  relating  to  the  Maine  woods.  That 
Dr.  Young  is  both  young  and  green  too  at  trav 
eling  in  the  woods.  However,  I  hope  he  got 
"  yarbs  "  enough  to  satisfy  him.  I  went  to  Bos 
ton  the  5th  of  this  month  to  see  Mr.  Emerson 
off  to  Europe.  He  sailed  in  the  Washington 
Irving  packet  ship ;  the  same  in  which  Mr.  [F. 
II.]  Hedge  went  before  him.  Up  to  this  trip 
the  first  mate  aboard  this  ship  was,  as  I  hear, 
one  Stephens,  a  Concord  boy,  son  of  Stephens 
the  carpenter,  who  used  to  live  above  Mr.  Den 
nis's.  Mr.  Emerson's  stateroom  was  like  a  car- 


2ET.30.]  TO  SOPHIA    THOREAU.  159 

peted  dark  closet,  about  six  feet  square,  with  a 
large  keyhole  for  a  window.  The  window  was 
about  as  big  as  a  saucer,  and  the  glass  two  inches 
thick,  not  to  mention  another  skylight  overhead 
in  the  deck,  the  size  of  an  oblong  doughnut, 
and  about  as  opaque.  Of  course  it  would  be  in 
vain  to  look  up,  if  any  contemplative  promenader 
put  his  foot  upon  it.  Such  will  be  his  lodgings 
for  two  or  three  weeks ;  and  instead  of  a  walk 
in  Walden  woods  he  will  take  a  promenade  on 
deck,  where  the  few  trees,  you  know,  are  stripped 
of  their  bark.  The  steam-tug  carried  the  ship 
to  sea  against  a  head  wind  without  a  rag  of  sail 
being  raised. 

I  don't  remember  whether  you  have  heard  of 
the  new  telescope  at  Cambridge  or  not.  They 
think  it  is  the  best  one  in  the  world,  and  have 
already  seen  more  than  Lord  Rosse  or  Herschel. 
I  went  to  see  Perez  Blood's,  some  time  ago,  with 
Mr.  Emerson.  He  had  not  gone  to  bed,  but  was 
sitting  in  the  woodshed,  in  the  dark,  alone,  in 
his  astronomical  chair,  which  is  all  legs  and 
rounds,  with  a  seat  which  can  be  inserted  at  any 
height.  We  saw  Saturn's  rings,  and  the  moun 
tains  in  the  moon,  and  the  shadows  in  their 
craters,  and  the  sunlight  on  the  spurs  of  the 
mountains  in  the  dark  portion,  etc.,  etc.  When 
I  asked  him  the  power  of  his  glass,  he  said  it 
was  85.  But  what  is  the  power  of  the  Cam- 


160    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

bridge  glass  ?  2000  ! ! !    The  last  is  about  twenty- 
three  feet  long. 

I  think  you  may  have  a  grand  time  this  win 
ter  pursuing  some  study,  —  keeping  a  journal, 
or  the  like,  —  while  the  snow  lies  deep  without. 
Winter  is  the  time  for  study,  you  know,  and  the 
colder  it  is  the  more  studious  we  are.  Give  my 
respects  to  the  whole  Penobscot  tribe,  and  tell 
them  that  I  trust  we  are  good  brothers  still,  and 
endeavor  to  keep  the  chain  of  friendship  bright, 
though  I  do  dig  up  a  hatchet  now  and  then.  I 
trust  you  will  not  stir  from  your  comfortable 
winter  quarters,  Miss  Bruin,  or  even  put  your 
head  out  of  your  hollow  tree,  till  the  sun  has 
melted  the  snow  in  the  spring,  and  "  the  green 
buds,  they  are  a-swellin'." 

From  your  BROTHER  HENRY. 

This  letter  will  explain  some  of  the  allusions 
in  the  first  letter  to  Emerson  in  England.  Perez 
Blood  was  a  rural  astronomer  living  in  the  ex 
treme  north  quarter  of  Concord,  next  to  Carlisle, 
with  his  two  maiden  sisters,  in  the  midst  of  a 
fine  oak  wood ;  their  cottage  being  one  of  the 
points  in  view  when  Thoreau  and  his  friends 
took  their  afternoon  rambles.  Sophia  Thoreau, 
the  younger  and  soon  the  only  surviving  sister, 
was  visiting  her  cousins  in  Maine,  the  "  Penob 
scot  tribe  "  of  whom  the  letter  makes  mention, 


MT.  30.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  161 

with  an  allusion  to  the  Indians  of  that  name  near 
Bangor.  His  letter  to  her  and  those  which  fol 
low  were  written  from  Emerson's  house,  where 
Thoreau  lived  during  the  master's  absence  across 
the  ocean.  It  was  in  the  orchard  of  this  house 
that  Alcott  was  building  that  summer-house  at 
which  Thoreau,  with  his  geometrical  eye,  makes 
merry  in  the  next  letter. 

TO    B.  W.  EMERSON    (iN    ENGLAND). 

CONCORD,  November  14,  1847. 

DEAR  FKIEND,  —  I  am  but  a  poor  neighbor 
to  you  here,  —  a  very  poor  companion  am  I.  I 
understand  that  very  well,  but  that  need  not 
prevent  my  writing  to  you  now.  I  have  almost 
never  written  letters  in  my  life,  yet  I  think  I 
can  write  as  good  ones  as  I  frequently  see,  so  I 
shall  not  hesitate  to  write  this,  such  as  it  may 
be,  knowing  that  you  will  welcome  anything  that 
reminds  you  of  Concord. 

I  have  banked  up  the  young  trees  against  the 
winter  and  the  mice,  and  I  will  look  out,  in  my 
careless  way,  to  see  when  a  pale  is  loose  or  a 
nail  drops  out  of  its  place.  The  broad  gaps,  at 
least,  I  will  occupy.  I  heartily  wish  I  could  be 
of  good  service  to  this  household.  But  I,  who 
have  only  used  these  ten  digits  so  long  to  solve 
the  problem  of  a  living,  how  can  I  ?  The  world 
is  a  cow  that  is  hard  to  milk,  —  life  does  not 


162     GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.   [1847, 

come  so  easy,  —  and  oh,  how  thinly  it  is  watered 
ere  we  get  it !  But  the  young  bunting  calf,  he 
will  get  at  it.  There  is  no  way  so  direct.  This 
is  to  earn  one's  living  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 
It  is  a  little  like  joining  a  community,  this  life, 
to  such  a  hermit  as  I  am ;  and  as  I  don't  keep 
the  accounts,  I  don't  know  whether  the  experi 
ment  will  succeed  or  fail  finally.  At  any  rate, 
it  is  good  for  society,  so  I  do  not  regret  my  tran 
sient  nor  my  permanent  share  in  it. 

Lidian  [Mrs.  Emerson]  and  I  make  very  good 
housekeepers.  She  is  a  very  dear  sister  to  me. 
Ellen  and  Edith  and  Eddy  and  Aunty  Brown 
keep  up  the  tragedy  and  comedy  and  tragic-com 
edy  of  life  as  usual.  The  two  former  have  not 
forgotten  their  old  acquaintance;  even  Edith 
carries  a  young  memory  in  her  head,  I  find. 
Eddy  can  teach  us  all  how  to  pronounce.  If 
you  should  discover  any  rare  hoard  of  wooden 
or  pewter  horses,  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  know 
how  to  appreciate  it.  He  occasionally  surveys 
mankind  from  my  shoulders  as  wisely  as  ever 
Johnson  did.  I  respect  him  not  a  little,  though 
it  is  I  that  lift  him  up  so  unceremoniously.  And 
sometimes  I  have  to  set  him  down  again  in  a 
hurry,  according  to  his  "mere  will  and  good 
pleasure."  He  very  seriously  asked  me,  the 
other  day,  "Mr.  Thoreau,  will  you  be  my  fa 
ther  ?  "  I  am  occasionally  Mr.  Rough-and-tum- 


JST.  30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  163 

ble  with  him  that  I  may  not  miss  Aim,  and  lest 
he  should  miss  you  too  much.  So  you  must 
come  back  soon,  or  you  will  be  superseded. 

Alcott  has  heard  that  I  laughed,  and  so  set 
the  people  laughing,  at  his  arbor,  though  I  never 
laughed  louder  than  when  I  was  on  the  ridge 
pole.  But  now  I  have  not  laughed  for  a  long 
time,  it  is  so  serious.  He  is  very  grave  to  look 
at.  But,  not  knowing  all  this,  I  strove  inno 
cently  enough,  the  other  day,  to  engage  his  at 
tention  to  my  mathematics.  "Did  you  ever 
study  geometry,  the  relation  of  straight  lines  to 
curves,  the  transition  from  the  finite  to  the  infi 
nite  ?  Fine  things  about  it  in  Newton  and  Leib 
nitz."  But  he  would  hear  none  of  it,  —  men  of 
taste  preferred  the  natural  curve.  Ah,  he  is  a 
crooked  stick  himself.  He  is  getting  on  now  so 
many  knots  an  hour.  There  is  one  knot  at  pres 
ent  occupying  the  point  of  highest  elevation,  — 
the  present  highest  point;  and  as  many  knots 
as  are  not  handsome,  I  presume,  are  thrown 
down  and  cast  into  the  pines.  Pray  show  him 
this  if  you  meet  him  anywhere  in  London,  for  I 
cannot  make  him  hear  much  plainer  words  here. 
He  forgets  that  I  am  neither  old  nor  young,  nor 
anything  in  particular,  and  behaves  as  if  I  had 
still  some  of  the  animal  heat  in  me.  As  for  the 
building,  I  feel  a  little  oppressed  when  I  come 
near  it.  It  has  no  great  disposition  to  be  beau- 


164    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

tiful;  it  is  certainly  a  wonderful  structure,  on 
the  whole,  and  the  fame  of  the  architect  will 
endure  as  long  as  it  shall  stand.  I  should  not 
show  you  this  side  alone,  if  I  did  not  suspect 
that  Lidian  had  done  complete  justice  to  the 
other. 

Mr.  [Edmund]  Hosmer  has  been  working  at 
a  tannery  in  Stow  for  a  fortnight,  though  he  has 
just  now  come  home  sick.  It  seems  that  he  was 
a  tanner  in  his  youth,  and  so  he  has  made  up 
his  mind  a  little  at  last.  This  comes  of  reading 
the  New  Testament.  Was  n't  one  of  the  Apos 
tles  a  tanner  ?  Mrs.  Hosmer  remains  here,  and 
John  looks  stout  enough  to  fill  his  own  shoes 
and  his  father's  too. 

Mr.  Blood  and  his  company  have  at  length 
seen  the  stars  through  the  great  telescope,  and 
he  told  me  that  he  thought  it  was  worth  the 
while.  Mr.  Peirce  made  him  wait  till  the  crowd 
had  dispersed  (it  was  a  Saturday  evening),  and 
then  was  quite  polite,  —  conversed  with  him,  and 
showed  him  the  micrometer,  etc. ;  and  he  said 
Mr.  Blood's  glass  was  large  enough  for  all  ordi 
nary  astronomical  work.  [Rev.]  Mr.  Frost  and 
Dr.  [Josiah]  Bartlett  seemed  disappointed  that 
there  was  no  greater  difference  between  the 
Cambridge  glass  and  the  Concord  one.  They 
used  only  a  power  of  400.  Mr.  Blood  tells  me 
that  he  is  too  old  to  study  the  calculus  or  higher 


JET.  30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  165 

mathematics.  At  Cambridge  they  think  that 
they  have  discovered  traces  of  another  satellite 
to  Neptune.  They  have  been  obliged  to  exclude 
the  public  altogether,  at  last.  The  very  dust 
which  they  raised,  "  which  is  filled  with  minute 
crystals,"  etc.,  as  professors  declare,  having  to 
be  wiped  off  the  glasses,  would  erelong  wear 
them  away.  It  is  true  enough,  Cambridge  col 
lege  is  really  beginning  to  wake  up  and  redeem 
its  character  and  overtake  the  age.  I  see  by  the 
catalogue  that  they  are  about  establishing  a  sci 
entific  school  in  connection  with  the  university, 
at  which  any  one  above  eighteen,  on  paying  one 
hundred  dollars  annually  (Mr.  Lawrence's  fifty 
thousand  dollars  will  probably  diminish  this  sum), 
may  be  instructed  in  the  highest  branches  of 
science,  —  in  astronomy,  "  theoretical  and  prac 
tical,  with  the  use  of  the  instruments  "  (so  the 
great  Yankee  astronomer  may  be  born  without 
delay),  in  mechanics  and  engineering  to  the  last 
degree.  Agassiz  will  erelong  commence  his  lec 
tures  in  the  zoological  department.  A  chemistry 
class  has  already  been  formed  under  the  direc 
tion  of  Professor  Horsford.  A  new  and  ade 
quate  building  for  the  purpose  is  already  being 
erected.  They  have  been  foolish  enough  to  put 
at  the  end  of  all  this  earnest  the  old  joke  of  a 
diploma.  Let  every  sheep  keep  but  his  own 
skin,  I  say. 


166    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

I  have  had  a  tragic  correspondence,  for  the 

most  part  all  on  one  side,  with  Miss .  She 

did  really  wish  to  —  I  hesitate  to  write  —  marry 
me.  That  is  the  way  they  spell  it.  Of  course 
I  did  not  write  a  deliberate  answer.  How  could 
I  deliberate  upon  it  ?  I  sent  back  as  distinct  a 
no  as  I  have  learned  to  pronounce  after  consid 
erable  practice,  and  I  trust  that  this  no  has  suc 
ceeded.  Indeed,  I  wished  that  it  might  burst, 
like  hollow  shot,  after  it  had  struck  and  buried 
itself  and  made  itself  felt  there.  There  was  no 
other  way.  I  really  had  anticipated  no  such  foe 
as  this  in  my  career. 

I  suppose  you  will  like  to  hear  of  my  book, 
though  I  have  nothing  worth  writing  about  it. 
Indeed,  for  the  last  month  or  two  I  have  forgot 
ten  it,  but  shall  certainly  remember  it  again. 
Wiley  &  Putnam,  Muiiroe,  the  Harpers,  and 
Crosby  &  Nichols  have  all  declined  printing  it 
with  the  least  risk  to  themselves ;  but  Wiley  & 
Putnam  will  print  it  in  their  series,  and  any  of 
them,  anywhere,  at  my  risk.  If  I  liked  the  book 
well  enough,  I  should  not  delay;  but  for  the 
present  I  am  indifferent.  I  believe  this  is,  after 
all,  the  course  you  advised,  —  to  let  it  lie. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  say  of  myself.  I  sit 
before  my  green  desk,  in  the  chamber  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  and  attend  to  my  thinking, 
sometimes  more,  sometimes  less  distinctly.  I 


MT.  30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  167 

am  not  unwilling  to  think  great  thoughts  if 
there  are  any  in  the  wind,  but  what  they  are  I 
am  not  sure.  They  suffice  to  keep  me  awake 
while  the  day  lasts,  at  any  rate.  Perhaps  they 
will  redeem  some  portion  of  the  night  erelong. 

I  can  imagine  you  astonishing,  bewildering, 
confounding,  and  sometimes  delighting  John 
Bull  with  your  Yankee  notions,  and  that  he  be 
gins  to  take  a  pride  in  the  relationship  at  last ; 
introduced  to  all  the  stars  of  England  in  succes 
sion,  after  the  lecture,  until  you  pine  to  thrust 
your  head  once  more  into  a  genuine  and  unques 
tionable  nebula,  if  there  be  any  left.  I  trust  a 
common  man  will  be  the  most  uncommon  to  you 
before  you  return  to  these  parts.  I  have  thought 
there  was  some  advantage  even  in  death,  by 
which  we  "  mingle  with  the  herd  of  common 
men." 

Hugh  [the  gardener]  still  has  his  eye  on  the 
Walden  agellum,  and  orchards  are  waving  there 
in  the  windy  future  for  him.  That 's  the  where- 
I  '11-go-next,  thinks  he  ;  but  no  important  steps 
are  yet  taken.  He  reminds  me  occasionally  of 
this  open  secret  of  his,  with  which  the  very  sea 
son  seems  to  labor,  and  affirms  seriously  that  as 
to  his  wants  —  wood,  stone,  or  timber  —  I  know 
better  than  he.  That  is  a  clincher  which  I  shall 
have  to  avoid  to  some  extent ;  but  I  fear  that 
it  is  a  wrought  nail  and  will  not  break.  Un- 


168    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

fortunately,  the  day  after  cattle  show  —  the  day 
after  small  beer  —  he  was  among  the  missing, 
but  not  long  this  time.  The  Ethiopian  cannot 
change  his  skin  nor  the  leopard  his  spots,  nor 
indeed  Hugh  —  his  Hugh. 

As  I  walked  over  Conantum,  the  other  after 
noon,  I  saw  a  fair  column  of  smoke  rising  from 
the  woods  directly  over  my  house  that  was  (as 
I  judged),  and  already  began  to  conjecture  if 
my  deed  of  sale  would  not  be  made  invalid  by 
this.  But  it  turned  out  to  be  John  Richardson's 
young  wood,  on  the  southeast  of  your  field.  It 
was  burnt  nearly  all  over,  and  up  to  the  rails 
and  the  road.  It  was  set  on  fire,  no  doubt,  by 
the  same  Lucifer  that  lighted  Brooks's  lot  be 
fore.  So  you  see  that  your  small  lot  is  compar 
atively  safe  for  this  season,  the  back  fire  having 
been  already  set  for  you. 

They  have  been  choosing  between  John  Keyes 
and  Sam  Staples,  if  the  world  wants  to  know  it, 
as  representative  of  this  town,  and  Staples  is 
chosen.  The  candidates  for  governor  —  think  of 
my  writing  this  to  you  !  —  were  Governor  Briggs 
and  General  Gushing,  and  Briggs  is  elected, 
though  the  Democrats  have  gained.  Ain't  I  a 
brave  boy  to  know  so  much  of  politics  for  the 
nonce  ?  But  I  should  n't  have  known  it  if 
Goombs  hadn't  told  me.  They  have  had  a 
peace  meeting  here,  —  I  should  n't  think  of 


MT.  30.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  169 

telling  you  if  I  didn't  know  anything  would 
do  for  the  English  market,  —  and  some  men, 
Deacon  Brown  at  the  head,  have  signed  a  long 
pledge,  swearing  that  they  will  "  treat  all  man 
kind  as  brothers  henceforth."  I  think  I  shall 
wait  and  see  how  they  treat  me  first.  I  think 
that  Nature  meant  kindly  when  she  made  our 
brothers  few.  However,  my  voice  is  still  for 
peace.  So  good-by,  and  a  truce  to  all  joking, 
my  dear  friend,  from 

H.  D.  T. 

Upon  this  letter  some  annotations  are  to  be 
made.  "  Eddy  "  was  Emerson's  youngest  child, 
Edward  Waldo,  then  three  years  old  and  up 
ward,  —  of  late  years  his  father's  biographer. 
Hugh,  the  gardener,  of  whom  more  anoil,  bar 
gained  for  the  house  of  Thoreau  on  Emerson's 
land  at  Walden,  and  for  a  field  to  go  with  it ; 
but  the  bargain  came  to  naught,  and  the  cabin 
was  removed  three  or  four  miles  to  the  north 
west,  where  it  became  a  granary  for  Farmer 
Clark  and  his  squirrels,  near  the  entrance  to  the 
park  known  as  Estabrook's.  Edmund  Hosmer 
was  the  farming  friend  and  neighbor  with  whom, 
at  one  time,  G.  W.  Curtis  and  his  brother  took 
lodgings,  and  at  another  time  the  Alcott  family. 
The  book  in  question  was  "  A  Week  on  the 
Concord  and  Merrimack  Rivers." 


170   GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

To  these  letters  Emerson  replied  from  Eng 
land  :  — 

DEAR  HENRY,  —  Very  welcome  in  the  parcel 
was  your  letter,  very  precious  your  thoughts  and 
tidings.  It  is  one  of  the  best  things  connected 
with  my  coming  hither  that  you  could  and  would 
keep  the  homestead ;  that  fireplace  shines  all  the 
brighter,  and  has  a  certain  permanent  glimmer 
therefor.  Thanks,  ever  more  thanks  for  the 
kindness  which  I  well  discern  to  the  youth  of 
the  house :  to  my  darling  little  horseman  of 
pewter,  wooden,  rocking,  and  what  other  breeds, 
—  destined,  I  hope,  to  ride  Pegasus  yet,  and,  I 
hope,  not  destined  to  be  thrown  ;  to  Edith,  who 
long  ago  drew  from  you  verses  which  I  carefully 
preserve  ;  and  to  Ellen,  whom  by  speech,  and 
now  by  letter,  I  find  old  enough  to  be  compan 
ionable,  and  to  choose  and  reward  her  own 
friends  in  her  own  fashions.  She  sends  me  a 
poem  to-day,  which  I  have  read  three  times ! 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (iN   ENGLAND). 

CONCORD,  December  15,  1847. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  You  are  not  so  far  off  but 
the  affairs  of  this  world  still  attract  you.  Per 
haps  it  will  be  so  when  we  are  dead.  Then 
look  out.  Joshua  K.  Holman,  of  Harvard,  who 
says  he  lived  a  month  with  [Charles]  Lane  at 


2ET.30.J  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  171 

Fruitlands,  wishes  to  hire  said  Lane's  farm  for 
one  or  more  years,  and  will  pay  $125  rent,  tak 
ing  out  of  the  same  a  half,  if  necessary,  for 
repairs,  —  as  for  a  new  bank-wall  to  the  barn 
cellar,  which  he  says  is  indispensable.  Palmer  is 
gone,  Mrs.  Palmer  is  going.  This  is  all  that  is 
known  or  that  is  worth  knowing.  Yes  or  no  ? 
What  to  do  ? 

Hugh's  plot  begins  to  thicken.  He  starts 
thus  :  eighty  dollars  on  one  side  ;  Walden,  field 
and  house,  on  the  other.  How  to  bring  these 
together  so  as  to  make  a  garden  and  a  palace  ? 


Field 


1st,  let  $10  go  over  to  unite  the  two  lots. 
$70 

$6  for  Wetherbee's  rocks  to  found  your 
palace  on. 

$64 


$64  —  so  far,  indeed,  we  have  already  got. 
$4  to  bring  the  rocks  to  the  field. 

$60 
Save      $20  by  all  means,  to  measure  the  field,  and  you  have 

left 
$40  to  complete  the  palace,  build  cellar,  and  dig  well. 

Build  the  cellar  yourself,  and  let  well  alone, — 

and  now  how  does  it  stand  ? 
$40   to   complete   the   palace   somewhat   like 

this. 


172    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

For  when  one  asks,  "  Why  do  you  want  twice 
as  much  room  more  ? "  the  reply  is,  "  Parlor, 
kitchen,  and  bedroom,  —  these  make  the  pal 
ace." 

"  Well,  Hugh,  what  will  you  do  ?  Here  are 
forty  dollars  to  buy  a  new  house,  twelve  feet  by 
twenty-five,  and  add  it  to  the  old." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Thoreau,  as  I  tell  you,  I  know 
no  more  than  a  child  about  it.  It  shall  be  just 
as  you  say." 

"Then  build  it  yourself,  get  it  roofed,  and 
get  in. 

"  Commence  at  one  end  and  leave  it  half  done, 
And  let  time  finish  what  money  's  begun." 

So  you  see  we  have  forty  dollars  for  a  nest 
egg ;  sitting  on  which,  Hugh  and  I  alternately 
and  simultaneously,  there  may  in  course  of  time 
be  hatched  a  house  that  will  long  stand,  and 
perchance  even  lay  fresh  eggs  one  day  for  its 
owner  ;  that  is,  if,  when  he  returns,  he  gives  the 
young  chick  twenty  dollars  or  more  in  addition, 
by  way  of  "  swichin,"  to  give  it  a  start  in  the 
world. 

The  "  Massachusetts  Quarterly  Review  "  came 
out  the  1st  of  December,  but  it  does  not  seem 
to  be  making  a  sensation,  at  least  not  here 
abouts.  I  know  of  none  in  Concord  who  take 
or  have  seen  it  yet. 

We  wish  to  get  by  all  possible  means  some 


JOT.  30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  173 

notion  of  your  success  or  failure  in  England,  — 
more  than  your  two  letters  have  furnished.  Can't 
you  send  a  fair  sample  both  of  young  and  of 
old  England's  criticism,  if  there  is  any  printed  ? 
Alcott  and  [Ellery]  Channing  are  equally 
greedy  with  myself. 

HENRY  THOKEAU. 

C.  T.  Jackson  takes  the  Quarterly  (new  one), 
and  will  lend  it  to  us.  Are  you  not  going  to 
send  your  wife  some  news  of  your  good  or  ill 
success  by  the  newspapers  ? 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (iN   ENGLAND). 

CONCORD,  December  29,  1847. 

MY  DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
letter.  I  was  very  glad  to  get  it;  and  I  am 
glad  again  to  write  to  you.  However  slow  the 
steamer,  no  time  intervenes  between  the  writing 
and  the  reading  of  thoughts,  but  they  come 
freshly  to  the  most  distant  port.  I  am  here 
still,  and  very  glad  to  be  here,  and  shall  not 
trouble  you  with  any  complaints  because  I  do 
not  fill  my  place  better.  I  have  had  many  good 
hours  in  the  chamber  at  the  head  of  the  stairs,  — 
a  solid  time,  it  seems  to  me.  Next  week  I  am 
going  to  give  an  account  to  the  Lyceum  of  my 
expedition  to  Maine.  Theodore  Parker  lectures 
to-night.  We  have  had  Whipple  on  Genius,  — 


174    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

too  weighty  a  subject  for  him,  with  his  antitheti 
cal  definitions  new-vamped,  —  what  it  is,  what  it 
is  not,  but  altogether  what  it  is  not ;  cuffing  it  this 
way  and  cuffing  it  that,  as  if  it  were  an  India- 
rubber  ball.  Really,  it  is  a  subject  which  should 
expand,  expand,  accumulate  itself  before  the 
speaker's  eyes  as  he  goes  on,  like  the  snowballs 
which  the  boys  roll  in  the  street ;  and  when  it 
stops,  it  should  be  so  large  that  he  cannot  start 
it,  but  must  leave  it  there.  [H.  N.]  Hudson, 
too,  has  been  here,  with  a  dark  shadow  in  the 
core  of  him,  and  his  desperate  wit,  so  much  in 
debted  to  the  surface  of  him,  —  wringing  out  his 
words  and  snapping  them  off  like  a  dish-cloth  ; 
very  remarkable,  but  not  memorable.  Singular 
that  these  two  best  lecturers  should  have  so 
much  "  wave  "  in  their  timber,  —  their  solid 
parts  to  be  made  and  kept  solid  by  shrinkage 
and  contraction  of  the  whole,  with  consequent 
checks  and  fissures. 

Ellen  and  I  have  a  good  understanding.  I 
appreciate  her  genuineness.  Edith  tells  me  after 
her  fashion :  "  By  and  by  I  shall  grow  up  and 
be  a  woman,  and  then  I  shall  remember  how  you 
exercised  me."  Eddy  has  been  to  Boston  to 
Christmas,  but  can  remember  nothing  but  the 
coaches,  all  Kendall's  coaches.  There  is  no 
variety  of  that  vehicle  that  he  is  not  familiar 
with.  He  did  try  twice  to  tell  us  something 


JST.  30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  175 

else,  but,  after  thinking  and  stuttering  a  long 
time,  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  the  word  is,"  - 
the  one  word,  forsooth,  that  would  have  disposed 
of  all  that  Boston  phenomenon.  If  you  did  not 
know  him  better  than  I,  I  could  tell  you  more. 
He  is  a  good  companion  for  me,  and  I  am  glad 
that  we  are  all  natives  of  Concord.  It  is  young 
Concord.  Look  out,  World ! 

Mr.  Alcott  seems  to  have  sat  down  for  the 
winter.  He  has  got  Plato  and  other  books  to 
read.  He  is  as  large-featured  and  hospitable  to 
traveling  thoughts  and  thinkers  as  ever ;  but 
with  the  same  Connecticut  philosophy  as  ever, 
mingled  with  what  is  better.  If  he  would  only 
stand  upright  and  toe  the  line  !  —  though  he 
were  to  put  off  several  degrees  of  largeness,  and 
put  on  a  considerable  degree  of  littleness.  After 
all,  I  think  we  must  call  him  particularly  your 
man. 

I  have  pleasant  walks  and  talks  with  Chan- 
ning.  James  Clark  —  the  Swedenborgian  that 
was  —  is  at  the  poorhouse,  insane  with  too  large 
views,  so  that  he  cannot  support  himself.  I  see 
him  working  with  Fred  and  the  rest.  Better 
than  be  there  and  not  insane.  It  is  strange  that 
they  will  make  ado  when  a  man's  body  is  buried, 
but  not  when  he  thus  really  and  tragically  dies, 
or  seems  to  die.  Away  with  your  funeral  pro- 


176    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1847, 

cessions,  —  into  the  ballroom  with  them  !  I  hear 
the  bell  toll  hourly  over  there.1 

Lidian  and  I  have  a  standing  quarrel  as  to 
what  is  a  suitable  state  of  preparedness  for  a 
traveling  professor's  visit,  or  for  whomsoever 
else  ;  but  further  than  this  we  are  not  at  war. 
We  have  made  up  a  dinner,  we  have  made  up  a 
bed,  we  have  made  up  a  party,  and  our  own 
minds  and  mouths,  three  several  times  for  your 
professor,  and  he  came  not.  Three  several  tur 
keys  have  died  the  death,  which  I  myself  carved, 
just  as  if  he  had  been  there ;  and  the  company, 
too,  convened  and  demeaned  themselves  accord 
ingly.  Everything  was  done  up  in  good  style,  I 
assure  you,  with  only  the  part  of  the  professor 
omitted.  To  have  seen  the  preparation  (though 
Lidian  says  it  was  nothing  extraordinary)  I 
should  certainly  have  said  he  was  a-coming,  but 
he  did  not.  He  must  have  found  out  some 
shorter  way  to  Turkey,  —  some  overland  route, 
I  think.  By  the  way,  he  was  complimented,  at 
the  conclusion  of  his  course  in  Boston,  by  the 
mayor  moving  the  appointment  of  a  committee 
to  draw  up  resolutions  expressive,  etc.,  which 
was  done. 

I  have  made  a  few  verses  lately.  Here  are 
some,  though  perhaps  not  the  best,  —  at  any  rate 

1  The  town  alrashouse  was  across  the  field  from  the  Emer 
son  house. 


JET.  30.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  177 

they  are  the  shortest,  —  on  that  universal  theme, 
yours  as  well  as  mine,  and  several  other  peo 
ple's  :  — 

The  good  how  can  we  trust ! 

Only  the  wise  are  just. 

The  good,  we  use, 

The  wise  we  cannot  choose  ; 

These  there  are  none  above. 

The  good,  they  know  and  love, 

But  are  not  known  again 

By  those  of  lesser  ken. 

They  do  not  choose  us  with  their  eyes, 

But  they  transfix  with  their  advice ; 

No  partial  sympathy  they  feel 

With  private  woe  or  private  weal, 

But  with  the  universe  joy  and  sigh, 

Whose  knowledge  is  their  sympathy. 

Good-night.  HENRY  THOREAU. 

P.  S.  —  I  am  sorry  to  send  such  a  medley  as 
this  to  you.  I  have  forwarded  Lane's  "  Dial " 
to  Munroe,  and  he  tells  the  expressman  that  all 
is  right. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (iN   ENGLAND). 

CONCORD,  January  12,  1848. 

It  is  hard  to  believe  that  England  is  so  near 
as  from  your  letters  it  appears;  and  that  this 
identical  piece  of  paper  has  lately  come  all  the 
way  from  there  hither,  begrimed  with  the  Eng 
lish  dust  which  made  you  hesitate  to  use  it; 
from  England,  which  is  only  historical  fairyland 


178    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    f!848? 

to  me,  to  America,  which  I  have  put  my  spade 
into,  and  about  which  there  is  no  doubt. 

I  thought  that  you  needed  to  be  informed  of 
Hugh's  progress.  He  has  moved  his  house,  as 
I  told  you,  and  dug  his  cellar,  and  purchased 
stone  of  Sol  Wetherbee  for  the  last,  though  he 
has  not  hauled  it ;  all  which  has  cost  sixteen  dol 
lars,  which  I  have  paid.  He  has  also,  as  next  in 
order,  run  away  from  Concord  without  a  penny 
in  his  pocket,  "  crying  "  by  the  way,  —  having 
had  another  long  difference  with  strong  beer, 
and  a  first  one,  I  suppose,  with  his  wife,  who 
seems  to  have  complained  that  he  sought  other 
society ;  the  one  difference  leading  to  the  other, 
perhaps,  but  I  don't  know  which  was  the  leader. 
He  writes  back  to  his  wife  from  Sterling,  near 
Worcester,  where  he  is  chopping  wood,  his  dis 
tantly  kind  reproaches  to  her,  which  I  read 
straight  through  to  her  (not  to  his  bottle,  which 
he  has  with  him,  and  no  doubt  addresses  orally). 
He  says  that  he  will  go  on  to  the  South  in  the 
spring,  and  will  never  return  to  Concord.  Per 
haps  he  will  not.  Life  is  not  tragic  enough  for 
him,  and  he  must  try  to  cook  up  a  more  highly 
seasoned  dish  for  himself.  Towns  which  keep  a 
barroom  and  a  gun-house  and  a  reading-room, 
should  also  keep  a  steep  precipice  whereoff  im 
patient  soldiers  may  jump.  His  sun  went  down, 
to  me,  bright  and  steady  enough  in  the  west,  but 


jffr.30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON,  179 

it  never  came  up  in  the  east.  Night  intervened. 
He  departed,  as  when  a  man  dies  suddenly ;  and 
perhaps  wisely,  if  he  was  to  go,  without  settling 
his  affairs.  They  knew  that  that  was  a  thin  soil 
and  not  well  calculated  for  pears.  Nature  is 
rare  and  sensitive  on  the  score  of  nurseries. 
You  may  cut  down  orchards  and  grow  forests  at 
your  pleasure.  Sand  watered  with  strong  beer, 
though  stirred  with  industry,  will  not  produce 
grapes.  He  dug  his  cellar  for  the  new  part  too 
near  the  old  house,  Irish  like,  though  I  warned 
him,  and  it  has  caved  and  let  one  end  of  the 
house  down.  Such  is  the  state  of  his  domestic 
affairs.  I  laugh  with  the  Parcse  only.  He  had 
got  the  upland  and  the  orchard  and  a  part  of 
the  meadow  ploughed  by  Warren,  at  an  expense 
of  eight  dollars,  still  unpaid,  which  of  course  is 
no  affair  of  yours. 

I  think  that  if  an  honest  and  small-familied 
man,  who  has  no  affinity  for  moisture  in  him, 
but  who  has  an  affinity  for  sand,  can  be  found, 
it  would  be  safe  to  rent  him  the  shanty  as  it  is, 
and  the  land ;  or  you  can  very  easily  and  simply 
let  nature  keep  them  still,  without  great  loss.  It 
may  be  so  managed,  perhaps,  as  to  be  a  home 
for  somebody,  who  shall  in  return  serve  you  as 
fencing  stuff,  and  to  fix  and  locate  your  lot,  as 
we  plant  a  tree  in  the  sand  or  on  the  edge  of  a 
stream  ;  without  expense  to  you  in  the  mean 


180    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

while,  and  without  disturbing  its  possible  future 
value. 

I  read  a  part  of  the  story  of  my  excursion  to 
Ktaadn  to  quite  a  large  audience  of  men  and 
boys,  the  other  night,  whom  it  interested.  It 
contains  many  facts  and  some  poetry.  I  have 
also  written  what  will  do  for  a  lecture  on 
"  Friendship." 

I  think  that  the  article  on  you  in  Blackwood's 
is  a  good  deal  to  get  from  the  reviewers,  —  the 
first  purely  literary  notice,  as  I  remember.  The 
writer  is  far  enough  off,  in  every  sense,  to  speak 
with  a  certain  authority.  It  is  a  better  judg 
ment  of  posterity  than  the  public  had.  It  is 
singular  how  sure  he  is  to  be  mystified  by  any 
uncommon  sense.  But  it  was  generous  to  put 
Plato  into  the  list  of  mystics.  His  confessions 
on  this  subject  suggest  several  thoughts,  which 
I  have  not  room  to  express  here.  The  old  word 
seer,  —  I  wonder  what  the  reviewer  thinks  that 
means  ;  whether  that  he  was  a  man  who  could 
see  more  than  himself. 

I  was  struck  by  Ellen's  asking  me,  yesterday, 
while  I  was  talking  with  Mrs.  Brown,  if  I  did 
not  use  "  colored  words."  She  said  that  she 
could  tell  the  color  of  a  great  many  words,  and 
amused  the  children  at  school  by  so  doing. 
Eddy  climbed  up  the  sofa,  the  other  day,  of  his 
own  accord,  and  kissed  the  picture  of  his  father, 
—  "  right  on  his  shirt,  I  did." 


2ET.30.]  TO  R.  W.   EMERSON.  181 

I  had  a  good  talk  with  Alcott  this  afternoon. 
He  is  certainly  the  youngest  man  of  his  age  we 
have  seen,  —  just  on  the  threshold  of  life.  When 
I  looked  at  his  gray  hairs,  his  conversation 
sounded  pathetic ;  but  I  looked  again,  and  they 
reminded  me  of  the  gray  dawn.  He  is  getting 
better  acquainted  with  Channing,  though  he 
says  that,  if  they  were  to  live  in  the  same  house, 
they  would  soon  sit  with  their  backs  to  each 
other.1 

You  must  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  write  with 
sufficient  directness  to  yourself,  who  are  a  far- 
off  traveler.  It  is  a  little  like  shooting  on  the 
wing,  I  confess. 

Farewell.  HENRY  THOREAU. 

TO   R.    W.    EMERSON    (iN   ENGLAND). 

CONCORD,  February  23,  1848. 

DEAR  WALDO,  —  For  I  think  I  have  heard 
that  that  is  your  name,  —  my  letter  which  was 
put  last  into  the  leathern  bag  arrived  first. 
Whatever  I  may  call  you,  I  know  you  better 
than  I  know  your  name,  and  what  becomes  of 
the  fittest  name  if  in  any  sense  you  are  here 

1  At  this  date  Aleott  had  passed  his  forty-eighth  year, 
while  Charming1  and  Thoreau  were  still  in  the  latitude  of 
thirty.  Hawthorne  had  left  Concord,  and  was  in  the  Salem 
Custom-house  ;  the  Old  Manse  having  gone  hack  into  the  occu 
pancy  of  Emerson's  cousins,  the  Ripleys,  who  owned  it. 


182    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

with  him  who  calls,  and  not  there  simply  to 
be  called  ? 

I  believe  I  never  thanked  you  for  your  lec 
tures,  one  and  all,  which  I  heard  formerly  read 
here  in  Concord.  I  know  I  never  have.  There 
was  some  excellent  reason  each  time  why  I  did 
not ;  but  it  will  never  be  too  late.  I  have  that 
advantage,  at  least,  over  you  in  my  education. 

Lidian  is  too  unwell  to  write  to  you  ;  so  I 
must  tell  you  what  I  can  about  the  children  and 
herself.  I  am  afraid  she  has  not  told  you  how 
unwell  she  is,  —  or  to-day  perhaps  we  may  say 
has  been.  She  has  been  confined  to  her  cham 
ber  four  or  five  weeks,  and  three  or  four  weeks, 
at  least,  to  her  bed,  with  the  jaundice.  The 
doctor,  who  comes  once  a  day,  does  not  let  her 
read  (nor  can  she  now)  nor  hear  much  read 
ing.  She  has  written  her  letters  to  you,  till  re 
cently,  sitting  up  in  bed,  but  he  said  he  would 
not  come  again  if  she  did  so.  She  has  Abby 
and  Almira  to  take  care  of  her,  and  Mrs.  Brown 
to  read  to  her  ;  and  I  also,  occasionally,  have 
something  to  read  or  to  say.  The  doctor  says 
she  must  not  expect  to  "  take  any  comfort  of 
her  life  "  for  a  week  or  two  yet.  She  wishes  me 
to  say  that  she  has  written  two  long  and  full 
letters  to  you  about  the  household  economies, 
etc.,  which  she  hopes  have  not  been  delayed. 
The  children  are  quite  well  and  full  of  spirits, 


JET.  30.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  183 

and  are  going  through  a  regular  course  of  pic 
ture-seeing,  with  commentary  by  me,  every  even 
ing,  for  Eddy's  behoof.  All  the  Annuals  and 
"  Diadems  "  are  in  requisition,  and  Eddy  is  for 
ward  to  exclaim,  when  the  hour  arrives,  "  Now 
for  the  demdems  !  "  I  overheard  this  dialogue 
when  Frank  [Brown]  came  down  to  breakfast 
the  other  morning. 

Eddy.  "  Why,  Frank,  I  am  astonished  that 
you  should  leave  your  boots  in  the  dining-room." 

Frank.  "  I  guess  you  mean  surprised,  don't 
you?" 

Eddy.  "  No,  boots !  " 

"  If  Waldo  were  here,"  said  he,  the  other 
night,  at  bedtime,  "  we  'd  be  four  going  up 
stairs."  Would  he  like  to  tell  papa  anything  ? 
No,  not  anything;  but  finally,  yes,  he  would, 
—  that  one  of  the  white  horses  in  his  new  ba 
rouche  is  broken  !  Ellen  and  Edith  will  per 
haps  speak  for  themselves,  as  I  hear  something 
about  letters  to  be  written  by  them. 

Mr.  Alcott  seems  to  be  reading  well  this  win 
ter  :  Plato,  Montaigne,  Ben  Jonson,  Beaumont 
and  Fletcher,  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  etc.,  etc. 
"  I  believe  I  have  read  them  all  now,  or  nearly 
all,"  —  those  English  authors.  He  is  rallying 
for  another  foray  with  his  pen,  in  his  latter 
years,  not  discouraged  by  the  past,  into  that 
crowd  of  unexpressed  ideas  of  his,  that  undis- 


184    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

ciplined  Parthian  army,  which,  as  soon  as  a  Ro 
man  soldier  would  face,  retreats  on  all  hands, 
occasionally  firing  backwards  ;  easily  routed,  not 
easily  subdued,  hovering  on  the  skirts  of  society. 
Another  summer  shall  not  be  devoted  to  the 
raising  of  vegetables  (Arbors?)  which  rot  in 
the  cellar  for  want  of  consumers ;  but  perchance 
to  the  arrangement  of  the  material,  the  brain- 
crop  which  the  winter  has  furnished.  I  have 
good  talks  with  him.  His  respect  for  Carlyle 
has  been  steadily  increasing  for  some  time.  He 
has  read  him  with  new  sympathy  and  apprecia 
tion. 

I  see  Channing  often.  He  also  goes  often 
to  Alcott's,  and  confesses  that  he  has  made  a 
discovery  in  him,  and  gives  vent  to  his  admira 
tion  or  his  confusion  in  characteristic  exaggera 
tion  ;  but  between  this  extreme  and  that  you 
may  get  a  fair  report,  and  draw  an  inference 
if  you  can.  Sometimes  he  will  ride  a  broom 
stick  still,  though  there  is  nothing  to  keep  him, 
or  it,  up  but  a  certain  centrifugal  force  of  whim, 
which  is  soon  spent,  and  there  lies  your  stick, 
not  worth  picking  up  to  sweep  an  oven  with 
now.  His  accustomed  path  is  strewn  with  them. 
But  then  again,  and  perhaps  for  the  most  part, 
he  sits  on  the  Cliffs  amid  the  lichens,  or  flits 
past  on  noiseless  pinion,  like  the  barred  owl  in 
the  daytime,  as  wise  and  unobserved.  He 


J5T.30.]  TO  R.   W.  EMERSON.  185 

brought  me  a  poem  the  other  day,  for  me,  on 
Walden  Hermitage  :  not  remarkable.1 

Lectures  begin  to  multiply  on  my  desk.  I 
have  one  on  Friendship  which  is  new,  and  the 
materials  of  some  others.  I  read  one  last  week 
to  the  Lyceum,  on  The  Rights  and  Duties  of 
the  Individual  in  Relation  to  Government,— 
much  to  Mr.  Alcott's  satisfaction. 

Joel  Britton  has  failed  and  gone  into  chan 
cery,  but  the  woods  continue  to  fall  before  the 
axes  of  other  men.  Neighbor  Coombs 2  was 
lately  found  dead  in  the  woods  near  Goose  Pond, 
with  his  half-empty  jug,  after  he  had  been  riot 
ing  a  week.  Hugh,  by  the  last  accounts,  was 
still  in  Worcester  County.  Mr.  Hosmer,  who 
is  himself  again,  and  living  in  Concord,  has  just 
hauled  the  rest  of  your  wood,  amounting  to  about 
ten  and  a  half  cords. 

The  newspapers  say  that  they  have  printed  a 
pirated  edition  of  your  Essays  in  England.  Is 
it  as  bad  as  they  say,  and  undisguised  and  un 
mitigated  piracy  ?  I  thought  that  the  printed 
scrap  would  entertain  Carlyle,  notwithstanding 
its  history.  If  this  generation  will  see  out  of 
its  hind-head,  why  then  you  may  turn  your  back 

1  See  Sanborn's  Thoreau,  p.  214,  and  Channing's  Thoreau, 
pp.  19(5-199,  for  this  poem. 

'2  This  is  the  political  neighbor  mentioned  in  a  former  let 
ter. 


186    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

on  its  forehead.  Will  you  forward  it  to  him 
for  me  ? 

This  stands  written  in  your  day-book :  "  Sep 
tember  3d.  Keceived  of  Boston  Savings  Bank, 

O 

on  account  of  Charles  Lane,  his  deposit  with 
interest,  1131.33.  16th.  Eeceived  of  Joseph 
Palmer,  on  account  of  Charles  Lane,  three  hun 
dred  twenty-three  -f^  dollars,  being  the  balance 
of  a  note  on  demand  for  four  hundred  dollars, 
with  interest,  $323.36." 

If  you  have  any  directions  to  give  about  the 
trees,  you  must  not  forget  that  spring  will  soon 
be  upon  us. 

Farewell.     From  your  friend, 

HENRY  THOKEAU. 

Before  a  reply  came  to  this  letter,  Thoreau 
had  occasion  to  write  to  Mr.  Elliot  Cabot  again. 
The  allusions  to  the  "  Week"  and  to  the  Walden 
house  are  interesting. 

TO   ELLIOT    CABOT. 

CONCORD,  March  8,  1848. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Mr.  Emerson's  address  is  as 
yet,  "  K.  W.  Emerson,  care  of  Alexander  Ire 
land,  Esq.,  Examiner  Office,  Manchester,  Eng 
land."  We  had  a  letter  from  him  on  Monday, 
dated  at  Manchester,  February  10,  and  he  was 
then  preparing  to  go  to  Edinburgh  the  next 


JET.  30.]  TO  ELLIOT  CABOT.  187 

day,  where  he  was  to  lecture.  He  thought  that 
he  should  get  through  his  northern  journeying 
by  the  25th  of  February,  and  go  to  London  to 
spend  March  and  April,  and  if  he  did  not  go  to 
Paris  in  May,  then  come  home.  He  has  been 
eminently  successful,  though  the  papers  this  side 
of  the  water  have  been  so  silent  about  his  ad 
ventures. 

My  book,1  fortunately,  did  not  find  a  pub 
lisher  ready  to  undertake  it,  and  you  can  im 
agine  the  effect  of  delay  on  an  author's  estimate 
of  his  own  work.  However,  I  like  it  well  enough 
to  mend  it,  and  shall  look  at  it  again  directly 
when  I  have  dispatched  some  other  things. 

I  have  been  writing  lectures  for  our  own  Ly 
ceum  this  winter,  mainly  for  my  own  pleasure 
and  advantage.  I  esteem  it  a  rare  happiness 
to  be  able  to  tvrite  anything,  but  there  (if  I 
ever  get  there)  my  concern  for  it  is  apt  to  end. 
Time  &  Co.  are,  after  all,  the  only  quite  honest 
and  trustworthy  publishers  that  we  know.  I 
can  sympathize,  perhaps,  with  the  barberry 

1  From  England  Emerson  wrote:  "I  am  not  of  opinion 
that  your  book  should  be  delayed  a  month.  I  should  print  it 
at  once,  nor  do  I  think  that  yon  would  incur  any  risk  in  doing 
so  that  you  cannot  well  afford.  It  is  very  certain  to  have 
readers  and  debtors,  here  as  well  as  there.  The  Dial  is  ab 
surdly  well  known  here.  We  at  home,  I  think,  are  always  a 
little  ashamed  of  it,  —  I  am,  —  and  yet  here  it  is  spoken  of 
with  the  utmost  gravity,  and  I  do  not  laugh." 


188    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

bush,  whose  business  it  is  solely  to  ripen  its 
fruit  (though  that  may  not  be  to  sweeten  it) 
and  to  protect  it  with  thorns,  so  that  it  holds 
on  all  winter,  even,  unless  some  hungry  crows 
come  to  pluck  it.  But  I  see  that  I  must  get  a 
few  dollars  together  presently  to  manure  my 
roots.  Is  your  journal  able  to  pay  anything, 
provided  it  likes  an  article  well  enough  ?  I  do 
not  promise  one.  At  any  rate,  I  mean  always 
to  spend  only  words  enough  to  purchase  silence 
with ;  and  I  have  found  that  this,  which  is  so 
valuable,  though  many  writers  do  not  prize  it, 
does  not  cost  much,  after  all. 

I  have  not  obtained  any  more  of  the  mice 
which  I  told  you  were  so  numerous  in  my  cellar, 
as  my  house  was  removed  immediately  after  I 
saw  you,  and  I  have  been  living  in  the  village 
since. 

However,  if  I  should  happen  to  meet  with  any 
thing  rare,  I  will  forward  it  to  you.  I  thank 
you  for  your  kind  offers,  and  will  avail  myself 
of  them  so  far  as  to  ask  if  you  can  anywhere 
borrow  for  me  for  a  short  time  the  copy  of  the 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  containing  a  notice 
of  Mr.  Emerson.  I  should  like  well  to  read  it, 
and  to  read  it  to  Mrs.  Emerson  and  others.  If 
this  book  is  not  easy  to  be  obtained,  do  not  by 
any  means  trouble  yourself  about  it. 


^T.  30.]  TO  R.  W.  EMERSON.  189 

TO    B.    W.    EMERSON.1 

CONCORD,  March  23,  1848. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  Lidian  says  I  must  write  a 
sentence  about  the  children.  Eddy  says  he  can 
not  sing,  —  "  not  till  mother  is  a-going  to  be 
well."  We  shall  hear  his  voice  very  soon,  in 
that  case,  I  trust.  Ellen  is  already  thinking 
what  will  be  done  when  you  come  home ;  but 
then  she  thinks  it  will  be  some  loss  that  I  shall 
go  away.  Edith  says  that  I  shall  come  and  see 
them,  and  always  at  tea-time,  so  that  I  can  play 
with  her.  Ellen  thinks  she  likes  father  best 
because  he  jumps  her  sometimes.  This  is  the 
latest  news  from 

Yours,  etc.,  HENRY. 

P.  S.  —  I  have  received  three  newspapers  from 
you  duly  which  I  have  not  acknowledged.  There 
is  an  anti-Sabbath  convention  held  in  Boston 
to-day,  to  which  Alcott  has  gone. 

That  friend  to  whom  Thoreau  wrote  most  con 
stantly  and  fully,  on  all  topics,  was  Mr.  Harri 
son  Blake  of  Worcester,  a  graduate  of  Harvard 
two  years  earlier  than  Thoreau,  in  the  same 

1  This  letter  was  addressed,  "  R.  Waldo  Emerson,  care  of 
Alexander  Ireland,  Esq.,  Manchester,  England,  via  New  York 
and  Steamer  Cambria,  March  25."  It  was  mailed  in  Boston, 
March  24,  and  received  in  Manchester,  April  19. 


190    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

class  with  two  other  young  men  from  Concord, 
-E.  R  Hoar  and  H.  B.  Dennis.  This  cir 
cumstance  may  have  led  to  Mr.  Blake's  visiting 
the  town  occasionally,  before  his  intimacy  with 
its  poet-naturalist  began,  in  the  year  1848.  At 
that  time,  as  Thoreau  wrote  to  Horace  Greeley, 
he  had  been  supporting  himself  for  five  years 
wholly  by  the  labor  of  his  hands ;  his  Walden 
hermit-life  was  over,  yet  neither  its  record  nor 
the  first  book  had  been  published,  and  Thoreau 
was  known  in  literature  chiefly  by  his  papers  in 
the  "  Dial,"  which  had  then  ceased  for  four 
years.  In  March,  1848,  Mr.  Blake  read  Tho- 
reau's  chapter  on  Persius  in  the  "Dial"  for 
July,  1840,  —  and  though  he  had  read  it  before, 
without  being  much  impressed  by  it,  he  now 
found  in  it  "pure  depth  and  solidity  of  thought." 
"  It  has  revived  in  me,"  he  wrote  to  Thoreau, 
"  a  haunting  impression  of  you,  which  I  carried 
away  from  some  spoken  words  of  yours.  .  .  . 
When  I  was  last  in  Concord,  you  spoke  of  retir 
ing  farther  from  our  civilization.  I  asked  you 
if  you  would  feel  no  longings  for  the  society  of 
your  friends.  Your  reply  was  in  substance, '  No, 
I  am  nothing.'  That  reply  was  memorable  to 
me.  It  indicated  a  depth  of  resources,  a  com 
pleteness  of  renunciation,  a  poise  and  repose  in 
the  universe,  which  to  me  is  almost  inconceiva 
ble  ;  which  in  you  seemed  domesticated,  and  to 


JET.  30.]  BLAKE    TO   THOREAU.  191 

which  I  look  up  with  veneration.  I  would  know 
of  that  soul  which  can  say  '  I  am  nothing.'  I 
would  be  roused  by  its  words  to  a  truer  and 
purer  life.  Upon  me  seems  to  be  dawning  with 
new  significance  the  idea  that  God  is  here ;  that 
we  have  but  to  bow  before  Him  in  profound  sub 
mission  at  every  moment,  and  He  will  fill  our 
souls  with  his  presence.  In  this  opening  of  the 
soul  to  God,  all  duties  seem  to  centre ;  what  else 
have  we  to  do  ?  .  .  .  If  I  understand  rightly  the 
significance  of  your  life,  this  is  it :  You  would 
sunder  yourself  from  society,  from  the  spell  of 
institutions,  customs,  conventionalities,  that  you 
may  lead  a  fresh,  simple  life  with  God.  Instead 
of  breathing  a  new  life  into  the  old  forms,  you 
would  have  a  new  life  without  and  within. 
There  is  something  sublime  to  me  in  this  atti 
tude, —  far  as  I  may  be  from  it  myself.  .  .  . 
Speak  to  me  in  this  hour  as  you  are  prompted. 
...  I  honor  you  because  you  abstain  from  ac 
tion,  and  open  your  soul  that  you  may  be  some 
what.  Amid  a  world  of  noisy,  shallow  actors  it 
is  noble  to  stand  aside  and  say,  '  I  will  simply 
~beJ  Could  I  plant  myself  at  once  upon  the 
truth,  reducing  my  wants  to  their  minimum, 
...  I  should  at  once  be  brought  nearer  to  na 
ture,  nearer  to  my  fellow-men,  —  and  life  would 
be  infinitely  richer.  But,  alas  !  I  shiver  on  the 
brink." 


192    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

Thus  appealed  to  by  one  who  had  so  well  at 
tained   the   true  Transcendental   shibboleth,— 
"  God  working  in  us,  both  to  will  and  to  do,"  - 
Thoreau  could  not  fail  to  make  answer,  as  he 
did  at  once,  and  thus  :  — 

TO    HARBISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 
[The  first  of  many  letters.] 

CONCORD,  March  27,  1848. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  any  words  of  mine, 
though  spoken  so  long  ago  that  I  can  hardly 
claim  identity  with  their  author,  have  reached 
you.  It  gives  me  pleasure,  because  I  have  there 
fore  reason  to  suppose  that  I  have  uttered  what 
concerns  men,  and  that  it  is  not  in  vain  that 
man  speaks  to  man.  This  is  the  value  of  litera 
ture.  Yet  those  days  are  so  distant,  in  every 
sense,  that  I  have  had  to  look  at  that  page  again, 
to  learn  what  was  the  tenor  of  my  thoughts  then. 
I  should  value  that  article,  however,  if  only  be 
cause  it  was  the  occasion  of  your  letter. 

I  do  believe  that  the  outward  and  the  inward 
life  correspond ;  that  if  any  should  succeed  to 
live  a  higher  life,  others  would  not  know  of  it ; 
that  difference  and  distance  are  one.  To  set 
about  living  a  true  life  is  to  go  a  journey  to  a 
distant  country,  gradually  to  find  ourselves  sur 
rounded  by  new  scenes  and  men ;  and  as  long 
as  the  old  are  around  me,  I  know  that  I  am  not 


J5T.30.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  193 

in  any  true  sense  living  a  new  or  a  better  life. 
The  outward  is  only  the  outside  of  that  which  is 
within.  Men  are  not  concealed  under  habits, 
but  are  revealed  by  them  ;  they  are  their  true 
clothes.  I  care  not  how  curious  a  reason  they 
may  give  for  their  abiding  by  them.  Circum 
stances  are  not  rigid  and  unyielding,  but  our 
habits  are  rigid.  We  are  apt  to  speak  vaguely 
sometimes,  as  if  a  divine  life  were  to  be  grafted 
on  to  or  built  over  this  present  as  a  suitable 
foundation.  This  might  do  if  we  could  so  build 
over  our  old  life  as  to  exclude  from  it  all  the 
warmth  of  our  affection,  and  addle  it,  as  the 
thrush  builds  over  the  cuckoo's  egg,  and  lays 
her  own  atop,  and  hatches  that  only ;  but  the 
fact  is,  we  —  so  there  is  the  partition  —  hatch 
them  both,  and  the  cuckoo's  always  by  a  day 
first,  and  that  young  bird  crowds  the  young 
thrushes  out  of  the  nest.  No.  Destroy  the  cuck 
oo's  egg,  or  build  a  new  nest. 

Change  is  change.  No  new  life  occupies  the 
old  bodies ;  —  they  decay.  It  is  born,  and  grows, 
and  flourishes.  Men  very  pathetically  inform 
the  old,  accept  and  wear  it»  Why  put  up  with 
the  almshouse  when  you  may  go  to  heaven  ?  It 
is  embalming,  —  no  more.  Let  alone  your  oint 
ments  and  your  linen  swathes,  and  go  into  an 
infant's  body.  You  see  in  the  catacombs  of 
Egypt  the  result  of  that  experiment,  —  that  is 
the  end  of  it. 


194    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

I  do  believe  in  simplicity.  It  is  astonishing 
as  well  as  sad,  how  many  trivial  affairs  even  the 
wisest  man  thinks  he  must  attend  to  in  a  day ; 
how  singular  an  affair  he  thinks  he  must  omit. 
When  the  mathematician  would  solve  a  difficult 
problem,  he  first  frees  the  equation  of  all  incum- 
brances,  and  reduces  it  to  its  simplest  terms.  So 
simplify  the  problem  of  life,  distinguish  the  ne 
cessary  and  the  real.  Probe  the  earth  to  see 
where  your  main  roots  run.  I  would  stand  upon 
facts.  Why  not  see,  —  use  our  eyes  ?  Do  men 
know  nothing  ?  I  know  many  men  who,  in  com 
mon  things,  are  not  to  be  deceived ;  who  trust 
no  moonshine ;  who  count  their  money  correctly, 
and  know  how  to  invest  it ;  who  are  said  to  be 
prudent  and  knowing,  who  yet  will  stand  at  a 
desk  the  greater  part  of  their  lives,  as  cashiers 
in  banks,  and  glimmer  and  rust  and  finally  go 
out  there.  If  they  know  anything,  what  under 
the  sun  do  they  do  that  for  ?  Do  they  know 
what  bread  is  ?  or  what  it  is  for  ?  Do  they  know 
what  life  is  ?  If  they  knew  something,  the  places 
which  know  them  now  would  know  them  no 
more  forever. 

This,  our  respectable  daily  life,  in  which  the 
man  of  common  sense,  the  Englishman  of  the 
world,  stands  so  squarely,  and  on  which  our  in 
stitutions  are  founded,  is  in  fact  the  veriest  illu 
sion,  and  will  vanish  like  the  baseless  fabric  of 


MT.  30.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  195 

a  vision ;  but  that  faint  glimmer  of  reality  which 
sometimes  illuminates  the  darkness  of  daylight 
for  all  men,  reveals  something  more  solid  and 
enduring  than  adamant,  which  is  in  fact  the  cor 
ner-stone  of  the  world. 

Men  cannot  conceive  of  a  state  of  things  so 
fair  that  it  cannot  be  realized.  Can  any  man 
honestly  consult  his  experience  and  say  that  it 
is  so  ?  Have  we  any  facts  to  appeal  to  when  we 
say  that  our  dreams  are  premature  ?  Did  you 
ever  hear  of  a  man  who  had  striven  all  his  life 
faithfully  and  singly  toward  an  object  and  in  no 
measure  obtained  it?  If  a  man  constantly  as 
pires,  is  he  not  elevated  ?  Did  ever  a  man  try 
heroism,  magnanimity,  truth,  sincerity,  and  find 
that  there  was  no  advantage  in  them?  that  it 
was  a  vain  endeavor  ?  Of  course  we  do  not  ex 
pect  that  our  paradise  will  be  a  garden.  We 
know  not  what  we  ask.  To  look  at  literature ; 
—  how  many  fine  thoughts  has  every  man  had  ! 
how  few  fine  thoughts  are  expressed !  Yet  we 
never  have  a  fantasy  so  subtile  and  ethereal,  but 
that  talent  merely,  with  more  resolution  and 
faithful  persistency,  after  a  thousand  failures, 
might  fix  and  engrave  it  in  distinct  and  endur 
ing  words,  and  we  should  see  that  our  dreams 
are  the  solidest  facts  that  we  know.  But  I  speak 
not  of  dreams. 

What  can  be  expressed  in  words  can  be  ex 
pressed  in  life. 


196    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

My  actual  life  is  a  fact,  in  view  of  which  I 
have  no  occasion  to  congratulate  myself  ;  but 
for  my  faith  and  aspiration  I  have  respect.  It 
is  from  these  that  I  speak.  Every  man's  position 
is  in  fact  too  simple  to  be  described.  I  have 
sworn  no  oath.  I  have  no  designs  on  society, 
or  nature,  or  God.  I  am  simply  what  I  am,  or 
I  begin  to  be  that.  I  live  in  the  present.  I 
only  remember  the  past,  and  anticipate  the  fu 
ture.  I  love  to  live.  I  love  reform  better  than 
its  modes.  There  is  no  history  of  how  bad  be 
came  better.  I  believe  something,  and  there  is 
nothing  else  but  that.  I  know  that  I  am.  I 
know  that  another  is  who  knows  more  than  I, 
who  takes  interest  in  me,  whose  creature,  and 
yet  whose  kindred,  in  one  sense,  am  I.  I  know 
that  the  enterprise  is  worthy.  I  know  that 
things  work  well.  I  have  heard  no  bad  news. 

As  for  positions,  combinations,  and  details,  — 
what  are  they?  In  clear  weather,  when  we 
look  into  the  heavens,  what  do  we  see  but  the 
sky  and  the  sun  ? 

If  you  would  convince  a  man  that  he  does 
wrong,  do  right.  But  do  not  care  to  convince 
him.  Men  will  believe  what  they  see.  Let 
them  see. 

Pursue,  keep  up  with,  circle  round  and  round 
your  life,  as  a  dog  does  his  master's  chaise.  Do 
what  you  love.  Know  your  own  bone ;  gnaw  at 


J5T.30.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  197 

it,  biiry  it,  unearth  it,  and  gnaw  it  still.  Do  not 
be  too  moral.  You  may  cheat  yourself  out  of 
much  life  so.  Aim  above  morality.  Be  not 
simply  good;  be  good  for  something.  All  fa 
bles,  indeed,  have  their  morals ;  but  the  inno 
cent  enjoy  the  story.  Let  nothing  come  between 
you  and  the  light.  Respect  men  and  brothers 
only.  When  you  travel  to  the  Celestial  City, 
carry  no  letter  of  introduction.  When  you 
knock,  ask  to  see  God, — none  of  the  servants. 
In  what  concerns  you  much,  do  not  think  that 
you  have  companions :  know  that  you  are  alone 
in  the  world. 

Thus  I  write  at  random.  I  need  to  see  you, 
and  I  trust  I  shall,  to  correct  my  mistakes. 
Perhaps  you  have  some  oracles  for  me. 

HENRY  THOREAU. 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  May  2,  1848. 

"  We  must  have  our  bread."  But  what  is 
our  bread  ?  Is  it  baker's  bread  ?  Methinks  it 
should  be  very  home-made  bread.  What  is  our 
meat?  Is  it  butcher's  meat?  What  is  that 
which  we  must  have  ?  Is  that  bread  which  we 
are  now  earning  sweet  ?  Is  it  not  bread  which 
has  been  suffered  to  sour,  and  then  been  sweet 
ened  with  an  alkali,  which  has  undergone  the 
vinous,  acetous,  and  sometimes  the  putrid  fer- 


198    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

mentation,  and  then  been  whitened  with  vitriol  ? 
Is  this  the  bread  which  we  must  have?  Man 
must  earn  his  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 
truly,  but  also  by  the  sweat  of  his  brain  within 
his  brow.  The  body  can  feed  the  body  only. 
I  have  tasted  but  little  bread  in  my  life.  It 
has  been  mere  grub  and  provender  for  the  most 
part.  Of  bread  that  nourished  the  brain  and 
the  heart,  scarcely  any.  There  is  absolutely 
none  even  on  the  tables  of  the  rich. 

There  is  not  one  kind  of  food  for  all  men. 
You  must  and  you  will  feed  those  faculties 
which  you  exercise.  The  laborer  whose  body  is 
weary  does  not  require  the  same  food  with  the 
scholar  whose  brain  is  weary.  Men  should  not 
labor  foolishly  like  brutes,  but  the  brain  and  the 
body  should  always,  or  as  much  as  possible, 
work  and  rest  together,  and  then  the  work  will 
be  of  such  a  kind  that  when  the  body  is  hungry 
the  brain  will  be  hungry  also,  and  the  same  food 
will  suffice  for  both ;  otherwise  the  food  which 
repairs  the  waste  energy  of  the  over-wrought 
body  will  oppress  the  sedentary  brain,  and  the 
degenerate  scholar  will  come  to  esteem  all  food 
vulgar,  and  all  getting  a  living  drudgery. 

How  shall  we  earn  our  bread  is  a  grave  ques 
tion;  yet  it  is  a  sweet  and  inviting  question. 
Let  us  not  shirk  it,  as  is  usually  done.  It  is 
the  most  important  and  practical  question  which 


^T.SO.j  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  199 

is  put  to  man.  Let  us  not  answer  it  hastily. 
Let  us  not  be  content  to  get  our  bread  in  some 
gross,  careless,  and  hasty  manner.  Some  men 
go  a-himting,  some  a-fishing,  some  a-gaming, 
some  to  war ;  but  none  have  so  pleasant  a  time 
as  they  who  in  earnest  seek  to  earn  their  bread. 
It  is  true  actually  as  it  is  true  really ;  it  is  true 
materially  as  it  is  true  spiritually,  that  they  who 
seek  honestly  and  sincerely,  with  all  their  hearts 
and  lives  and  strength,  to  earn  their  bread,  do 
earn  it,  and  it  is  sure  to  be  very  sweet  to  them. 
A  very  little  bread,  —  a  very  few  crumbs  are 
enough,  if  it  be  of  the  right  quality,  for  it  is 
infinitely  nutritious.  Let  each  man,  then,  earn 
at  least  a  crumb  of  bread  for  his  body  before  he 
dies,  and  know  the  taste  of  it,  —  that  it  is  iden 
tical  with  the  bread  of  life,  and  that  they  both 
go  down  at  one  swallow. 

Our  bread  need  not  ever  be  sour  or  hard  to 
digest.  What  Nature  is  to  the  mind  she  is  also 
to  the  body.  As  she  feeds  my  imagination,  she 
will  feed  my  body  ;  for  what  she  says  she  means, 
and  is  ready  to  do.  She  is  not  simply  beautiful 
to  the  poet's  eye.  Not  only  the  rainbow  and 
sunset  are  beautiful,  but  to  be  fed  and  clothed, 
sheltered  and  warmed  aright,  are  equally  beau 
tiful  and  inspiring.  There  is  not  necessarily 
any  gross  and  ugly  fact  which  may  not  be  eradi 
cated  from  the  life  of  man.  We  should  endeavor 


200    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

practically  in  our  lives  to  correct  all  the  defects 
which  our  imagination  detects.  The  heavens  are 
as  deep  as  our  aspirations  are  high.  So  high  as 
a  tree  aspires  to  grow,  so  high  it  will  find  an 
atmosphere  suited  to  it.  Every  man  should 
stand  for  a  force  which  is  perfectly  irresistible. 
How  can  any  man  be  weak  who  dares  to  be  at 
all?  Even  the  tenderest  plants  force  their  way 
up  through  the  hardest  earth,  and  the  crev 
ices  of  rocks  ;  but  a  man  no  material  power  can 
resist.  What  a  wedge,  what  a  beetle,  what  a 
catapult,  is  an  earnest  man !  What  can  resist 
him? 

It  is  a  momentous  fact  that  a  man  may  be 
good,  or  he  may  be  bad  ;  his  life  may  be  true,  or 
it  may  be  false  ;  it  may  be  either  a  shame  or  a 
glory  to  him.  The  good  man  builds  himself  up ; 
the  bad  man  destroys  himself. 

But  whatever  we  do  we  must  do  confidently 
(if  we  are  timid,  let  us,  then,  act  timidly),  not 
expecting  more  light,  but  having  light  enough. 
If  we  confidently  expect  more,  then  let  us  wait 
for  it.  But  what  is  this  which  we  have  ?  Have 
we  not  already  waited  ?  Is  this  the  beginning 
of  time  ?  Is  there  a  man  who  does  not  see 
clearly  beyond,  though  only  a  hair's  breadth 
beyond  where  he  at  any  time  stands  ? 

If  one  hesitates  in  his  path,  let  him  not  pro 
ceed.  Let  him  respect  his  doubts,  for  doubts, 


JST.  30.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  201 

too,  may  have  some  divinity  in  them.  That  we 
have  but  little  faith  is  not  sad,  but  that  we  have 
but  little  faithfulness.  By  faithfulness  faith  is 
earned.  When,  in  the  progress  of  a  life,  a  man 
swerves,  though  only  by  an  angle  infinitely  small, 
from  his  proper  and  allotted  path  (and  this  is 
never  done  quite  unconsciously  even  at  first ;  in 
fact,  that  was  his  broad  and  scarlet  sin,  —  ah,  he 
knew  of  it  more  than  he  can  tell),  then  the  drama 
of  his  life  turns  to  tragedy,  and  makes  haste  to 
its  fifth  act.  When  once  we  thus  fall  behind 
ourselves,  there  is  no  accounting  for  the  obsta 
cles  which  rise  up  in  our  path,  and  no  one  is  so 
wise  as  to  advise,  and  no  one  so  powerful  as  to 
aid  us  while  we  abide  on  that  ground.  Such 
are  cursed  with  duties,  and  the  neglect  of  their 
duties.  For  such  the  decalogue  was  made,  and 
other  far  more  voluminous  and  terrible  codes. 

These  departures, — who  have  not  made  them? 
—  for  they  are  as  faint  as  the  parallax  of  a  fixed 
star,  and  at  the  commencement  we  say  they  are 
nothing,  —  that  is,  they  originate  in  a  kind  of 
sleep  and  forgetfulness  of  the  soul  when  it  is 
naught.  A  man  cannot  be  too  circumspect  in 
order  to  keep  in  the  straight  road,  and  be  sure 
that  he  sees  all  that  he  may  at  any  time  see,  that 
so  he  may  distinguish  his  true  path. 

You  ask  if  there  is  no  doctrine  of  sorrow  in 
my  philosophy.  Of  acute  sorrow  I  suppose  that 


202   GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

I  know  comparatively  little.  My  saddest  and 
most  genuine  sorrows  are  apt  to  be  but  tran 
sient  regrets.  The  place  of  sorrow  is  supplied, 
perchance,  by  a  certain  hard  and  proportionably 
barren  indifference.  I  am  of  kin  to  the  sod,  and 
partake  largely  of  its  dull  patience,  —  in  winter 
expecting  the  sun  of  spring.  In  my  cheapest 
moments  I  am  apt  to  think  that  it  is  not  my 
business  to  be  "  seeking  the  spirit,"  but  as  much 
its  business  to  be  seeking  me.  I  know  very  well 
what  Goethe  meant  when  he  said  that  he  never 
had  a  chagrin  but  he  made  a  poem  out  of  it.  I 
have  altogether  too  much  patience  of  this  kind. 
I  am  too  easily  contented  with  a  slight  and 
almost  animal  happiness.  My  happiness  is  a 
good  deal  like  that  of  the  woodchucks. 

Methinks  I  am  never  quite  committed,  never 
wholly  the  creature  of  my  moods,  being  always 
to  some  extent  their  critic.  My  only  integral 
experience  is  in  my  vision.  I  see,  perchance, 
with  more  integrity  than  I  feel. 

But  I  need  not  tell  you  what  manner  of  man 
I  am,  —  my  virtues  or  my  vices.  You  can  guess 
if  it  is  worth  the  while ;  and  I  do  not  discrimi 
nate  them  well. 

I  do  not  write  this  time  at  my  hut  in  the 
woods.  I  am  at  present  living  with  Mrs.  Emer 
son,  whose  house  is  an  old  home  of  mine,  for 
company  during  Mr.  Emerson's  absence. 


JET.  30.]      THOREAU'S  PENETRATION.          203 

You  will  perceive  that  I  am  as  often  talking 
to  myself,  perhaps,  as  speaking  to  you. 

Here  is  a  confession  of  faith,  and  a  bit  of  self- 
portraiture  worth  having ;  for  there  is  little  ex 
cept  faithful  statement  of  the  fact.  Its  sentences 
are  based  on  the  questions  and  experiences  of 
his  correspondent ;  yet  they  diverge  into  that 
atmosphere  of  humor  and  hyperbole  so  native  to 
Thoreau ;  in  whom  was  the  oddest  mixture  of 
the  serious  and  the  comic,  the  literal  and  the 
romantic.  He  addressed  himself  also,  so  far  as 
his  unbending  personality  would  allow,  to  the 
mood  or  the  need  of  his  correspondent ;  and  he 
had  great  skill  in  fathoming  character  and  de 
scribing  in  a  few  touches  the  persons  he  encoun 
tered  ;  as  may  be  seen  in  his  letters  to  Emerson, 
especially,  who  also  had,  and  in  still  greater 
measure,  this  "  fatal  gift  of  penetration,"  as  he 
once  termed  it.  This  will  be  seen  in  the  contrast 
of  Thoreau' s  correspondence  with  Mr.  Blake, 
and  that  he  was  holding  at  the  same  time  with 
Horace  Greeley,  —  persons  radically  unlike. 

In  August,  1846,  Thoreau  sent  to  Greeley 
his  essay  on  Carlyle,  asking  him  to  find  a  place 
for  it  in  some  magazine.  Greeley  sent  it  to 
R.  W.  Griswold,  then  editing  "  Graham's  Maga 
zine  "  in  Philadelphia,  who  accepted  it  and 
promised  to  pay  for  it,  but  did  not  publish  it 


204   GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

till  March  and  April,  1847 ;  even  then  the 
promised  payment  was  not  forthcoming.  On 
the  31st  of  March,  1848,  a  year  and  a  half 
after  it  had  been  put  in  Griswold's  posses 
sion,  Thoreau  wrote  again  to  Greeley,  saying 
that  no  money  had  come  to  hand.  At  once, 
and  at  the  very  time  when  Mr.  Blake  was  open 
ing  his  spiritual  state  to  Thoreau  (April  3, 
1848),  the  busy  editor  of  the  "  Tribune  "  re 
plied :  "It  saddens  and  surprises  me  to  know 
that  your  article  was  not  paid  for  by  Graham  ; 
and,  since  my  honor  is  involved,  I  will  see  that 
you  are  paid,  and  that  at  no  distant  day."  Ac 
cordingly,  on  May  17th,  he  adds  :  "  To-day  I  have 
been  able  to  lay  my  hand  on  the  money  due 
you.  I  made  out  a  regular  bill  for  the  contri 
bution,  drew  a  draft  011  G.  E.  Graham  for  the 
amount,  gave  it  to  his  brother  in  New  York 
for  collection,  and  received  the  money.  I  have 
made  Graham  pay  you  seventy-five  dollars,  but 
I  only  send  you  fifty  dollars,"  having  deducted 
twenty-five  dollars  for  the  advance  of  that  sum 
he  had  made  a  month  before  to  Thoreau  for  his 
"  Ktaadn  and  the  Maine  Woods,"  which  finally 
came  out  in  "  Sartain's  Union  Magazine "  of 
Philadelphia,  late  in  1848.  To  this  letter  and 
remittance  of  fifty  dollars  Thoreau  replied,  May 
19,  1848,  substantially  thus  :  — 


asT.30.]  TO  HORACE  GREELEY.  205 

TO   HORACE   GREELEY    (AT   NEW   YORK). 

CONCORD,  May  19,  1848. 

MY  FRIEND  GKEELEY, —  I  have  to-day  re 
ceived  from  you  fifty  dollars.  It  is  five  years 
that  I  have  been  maintaining  myself  entirely  by 
manual  labor,  —  not  getting  a  cent  from  any 
other  quarter  or  employment.  Now  this  toil  has 
occupied  so  few  days,  —  perhaps  a  single  month, 
spring  and  fall  each,  —  that  I  must  have  had 
more  leisure  than  any  of  my  brethren  for  study 
and  literature.  I  have  done  rude  work  of  all 
kinds.  From  July,  1845,  to  September,  1847, 
I  lived  by  myself  in  the  forest,  in  a  fairly  good 
cabin,  plastered  and  warmly  covered,  which  I 
built  myself.  There  I  earned  all  I  needed  and 
kept  to  my  own  affairs.  During  that  time  my 
weekly  outlay  was  but  seven-and-twenty  cents ; 
and  I  had  an  abundance  of  all  sorts.  Unless 
the  human  race  perspire  more  than  I  do,  there 
is  no  occasion  to  live  by  the  sweat  of  their 
brow.  If  men  cannot  get  on  without  money 
(the  smallest  amount  will  suffice),  the  truest 
method  of  earning  it  is  by  working  as  a  laborer 
at  one  dollar  per  day.  You  are  least  dependent 
so ;  I  speak  as  an  expert,  having  used  several 
kinds  of  labor. 

Why  should  the  scholar  make  a  constant  com 
plaint  that  his  fate  is  specially  hard  ?  We  are 


206    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1848, 

too  often  told  of  "the  pursuit  of  knowledge 
under  difficulties,"  —  how  poets  depend  on  pa 
trons  and  starve  in  garrets,  or  at  last  go  mad 
and  die.  Let  us  hear  the  other  side  of  the 
story.  Why  should  not  the  scholar,  if  he  is 
really  wiser  than  the  multitude,  do  coarse  work 
now  and  then  ?  Why  not  let  his  greater  wis 
dom  enable  him  to  do  without  things  ?  If  you 
say  the  wise  man  is  unlucky,  how  could  you  dis 
tinguish  him  from  the  foolishly  unfortunate  ? 

My  friend,  how  can  I  thank  you  for  your 
kindness  ?  Perhaps  there  is  a  better  way,  —  I 
will  convince  you  that  it  is  felt  and  appreciated. 
Here  have  I  been  sitting  idle,  as  it  were,  while 
you  have  been  busy  in  my  cause,  and  have  done 
so  much  for  me.  I  wish  you  had  had  a  better 
subject ;  but  j^ood  deeds^are  no  less  good  because 
their  object  is  unworthy. 

¥  ours  was  the  best  way  to  collect  money,  — 
but  I  should  never  have  thought  of  it ;  I  might 
have  waylaid  the  debtor  perchance.  Even  a 
business  man  might  not  have  thought  of  it,  — 
and  I  cannot  be  called  that,  as  business  is  under 
stood  usually,  —  not  being  familiar  with  the  rou 
tine.  But  your  way  has  this  to  commend  it  also, 
—  if  you  make  the  draft,  you  decide  how  much 
to  draw.  You  drew  just  the  sum  suitable. 

The  Ktaadn  paper  can  be  put  in  the  guise 
of  letters,  if  it  runs  best  so ;  dating  each  part 


MT.  31.]          TO  HORACE   GREELEY.  207 

on  the  day  it  describes.  Twenty-five  dollars 
more  for  it  will  satisfy  me ;  I  expected  no  more, 
and  do  not  hold  you  to  pay  that,  —  for  you 
asked  for  something  else,  and  there  was  delay 
in  sending.  So,  if  you  use  it,  send  me  twenty- 
five  dollars  now  or  after  you  sell  it,  as  is  most 
convenient ;  but  take  out  the  expenses  that  I 
see  you  must  have  had.  In  such  cases  carriers 
generally  get  the  most ;  but  you,  as  carrier  here, 
get  no  money,  but  risk  losing  some,  besides 
much  of  your  time  ;  while  I  go  away,  as  I  must, 
giving  you  unprofitable  thanks.  Yet  trust  me, 
my  pleasure  in  your  letter  is  not  wholly  a  selfish 
one.  May  my  good  genius  still  watch  over  me 
and  my  added  wealth ! 

P.  S.  —  My  book  grows  in  bulk  as  I  work  on 
it ;  but  soon  I  shall  get  leisure  for  those  shorter 
articles  you  want,  —  then  look  out. 

The  "  book,"  of  course,  was  the  "  Week,"  then 
about  to  go  through  the  press  ;  the  shorter 
articles  were  some  that  Greeley  suggested  for 
the  Philadelphia  magazines.  Nothing  came  of 
this,  but  the  correspondence  was  kept  up  until 
1854,  and  led  to  the  partial  publication  of 
"  Cape  Cod,"  and  "  The  Yankee  in  Canada,"  in 
the  newly-launched  "Putnam's  Magazine,"  of 
which  Gr.  W.  Curtis  was  editor.  But  he  dif 
fered  with  Thoreau  on  a  matter  of  style  or 


208    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1849, 

opinion  (the  articles  appearing  as  anonymous, 
or  editorial),  and  the  author  withdrew  his  MS. 
The  letters  of  Greeley  in  this  entertaining  series 
are  all  preserved  ;  but  Greeley  seems  to  have 
given  Thoreau's  away  for  autographs ;  and  the 
only  one  accessible  as  yet  is  that  just  para 
phrased. 

TO   HARKISON   BLAKE    (AT   MILTON). 

CONCORD,  August  10,  1849. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  write  now  chiefly  to  say,  be 
fore  it  is  too  late,  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you 
in  Concord,  and  will  give  you  a  chamber,  etc., 
in  my  father's  house,  and  as  much  of  my  poor 
company  as  you  can  bear. 

I  am  in  too  great  haste  this  time  to  speak  to 
your,  or  out  of  my,  condition.  I  might  say,  — 
you  might  say,  —  comparatively  speaking,  be 
not  anxious  to  avoid  poverty.  In  this  way  the 
wealth  of  the  universe  may  be  securely  invested. 
What  a  pity  if  we  do  not  live  this  short  time 
according  to  the  laws  of  the  long  time,  —  the 
eternal  laws !  Let  us  see  that  we  stand  erect 
here,  and  do  not  lie  along  by  our  whole  length 
in  the  dirt.  Let  our  meanness  be  our  footstool, 
not  our  cushion.  In  the  midst  of  this  labyrinth 
let  us  live  a  thread  of  life.  We  must  act  with 
so  rapid  and  resistless  a  purpose  in  one  direc 
tion,  that  our  vices  will  necessarily  trail  behind. 


asT.32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  209 

The  nucleus  of  a  comet  is  almost  a  star.  Was 
there  ever  a  genuine  dilemma?  The  laws  of 
earth  are  for  the  feet,  or  inferior  man  ;  the  laws 
of  heaven  are  for  the  head,  or  superior  man  ; 
the  latter  are  the  former  sublimed  and  ex 
panded,  even  as  radii  from  the  earth's  centre 
go  on  diverging  into  space.  Happy  the  man 
who  observes  the  heavenly  and  the  terrestrial 
law  in  just  proportion ;  whose  every  faculty, 
from  the  soles  of  his  feet  to  the  crown  of  his 
head,  obeys  the  law  of  its  level ;  who  neither 
stoops  nor  goes  on  tiptoe,  but  lives  a  balanced 
life,  acceptable  to  nature  and  to  God. 

These  things  I  say ;  other  things  I  do. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  did  not  receive 
my  book  earlier.  I  addressed  it  and  left  it  in 
Mimroe's  shop  to  be  sent  to  you  immediately, 
on  the  twenty-sixth  of  May,  before  a  copy  had 
been  sold. 

Will  you  remember  me  to  Mr.  Brown,  when 
you  see  him  next :  he  is  well  remembered  by 

HENRY  THOEEAU. 

I  still  owe  you  a  worthy  answer. 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE. 

CONCORD,  November  20,  1849. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  not  forgotten  that  I 
am  your  debtor.  When  I  read  over  your  let- 


210    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1849, 

ters,  as  I  have  just  done,  I  feel  that  I  am  un 
worthy  to  have  received  or  to  answer  them, 
though  they  are  addressed,  as  I  would  have 
them,  to  the  ideal  of  me.  It  behoves  me,  if  I 
would  reply,  to  speak  out  of  the  rarest  part  of 
myself. 

At  present  I  am  subsisting  on  certain  wild 
flavors  which  nature  wafts  to  me,  which  unac 
countably  sustain  me,  and  make  my  apparently 
poor  life  rich.  Within  a  year  my  walks  have 
extended  themselves,  and  almost  every  after 
noon  (I  read,  or  write,  or  make  pencils  in  the 
forenoon,  and  by  the  last  means  get  a  living  for 
my  body)  I  visit  some  new  hill,  or  pond,  or 
wood,  many  miles  distant.  I  am  astonished  at 
the  wonderful  retirement  through  which  I  move, 
rarely  meeting  a  man  in  these  excursions,  never 
seeing  one  similarly  engaged,  unless  it  be  my 
companion,  when  I  have  one.  I  cannot  help 
feeling  that  of  all  the  human  inhabitants  of  na 
ture  hereabouts,  only  we  two  have  leisure  to 
admire  and  enjoy  our  inheritance. 

"  Free  in  this  world  as  the  birds  in  the  air, 
disengaged  from  every  kind  of  chains,  those 
who  have  practiced  the  yoga  gather  in  Brahma 
the  certain  fruit  of  their  works." 

Depend  upon  it,  that,  rude  and  careless  as  I 
am,  I  would  fain  practice  the  yoga  faithfully. 

"The  yogi,  absorbed  in  contemplation,  con- 


JET.  32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  211 

tributes  in  his  degree  to  creation :  he  breathes  a 
divine  perfume,  he  hears  wonderful  things.  Di 
vine  forms  traverse  him  without  tearing  him,  and, 
united  to  the  nature  which  is  proper  to  him,  he 
goes,  he  acts  as  animating  original  matter." 

To  some  extent,  and  at  rare  intervals,  even  I 
am  a  yogi. 

I  know  little  about  the  affairs  of  Turkey,  but 
I  am  sure  that  I  know  something  about  bar 
berries  and  chestnuts,  of  which  I  have  collected 
a  store  this  fall.  When  I  go  to  see  my  neigh 
bor,  he  will  formally  communicate  to  me  the 
latest  news  from  Turkey,  which  he  read  in 
yesterday's  mail,  —  "  Now  Turkey  by  this  time 
looks  determined,  and  Lord  Palmer ston " 
Why,  I  would  rather  talk  of  the  bran,  which, 
unfortunately,  was  sifted  out  of  my  bread  this 
morning,  and  thrown  away.  It  is  a  fact  which 
lies  nearer  to  me.  The  newspaper  gossip  with 
which  our  hosts  abuse  our  ears  is  as  far  from 
a  true  hospitality  as  the  viands  which  they  set 
before  us.  We  did  not  need  them  to  feed  our 
bodies,  and  the  news  can  be  bought  for  a  penny. 
We  want  the  inevitable  news,  be  it  sad  or  cheer 
ing,  wherefore  and  by  what  means  they  are  ex 
tant  this  new  day.  If  they  are  well,  let  them 
whistle  and  dance  ;  if  they  are  dyspeptic,  it  is 
their  duty  to  complain,  that  so  they  may  in  any 
case  be  entertaining.  If  words  were  invented 


212    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1849, 

to  conceal  thought,  I  think  that  newspapers  are 
a  great  improvement  on  a  bad  invention.  Do 
not  suffer  your  life  to  be  taken  by  newspapers. 

I  thank  you  for  your  hearty  appreciation  of 
my  book.  I  am  glad  to  have  had  such  a  long 
talk  with  you,  and  that  you  had  patience  to  lis 
ten  to  me  to  the  end.  I  think  that  I  had  the 
advantage  of  you,  for  I  chose  my  own  mood, 
and  in  one  sense  your  mood  too,  —  that  is,  a 
quiet  and  attentive  reading  mood.  Such  ad 
vantage  has  the  writer  over  the  talker.  I  am 
sorry  that  you  did  not  come  to  Concord  in  your 
vacation.  Is  it  not  time  for  another  vacation? 
I  am  here  yet,  and  Concord  is  here. 

You  will  have  found  out  by  this  time  who  it 
is  that  writes  this,  and  will  be  glad  to  have  you 
write  to  him,  without  his  subscribing  himself 
HENKY  D.  THOKEAU. 

P.  S.  —  It  is  so  long  since  I  have  seen  you, 
that,  as  you  will  perceive,  I  have  to  speak,  as  it 
were,  in  vacua,  as  if  I  were  sounding  hollowly 
for  an  echo,  and  it  did  not  make  much  odds 
what  kind  of  a  sound  I  made.  But  the  gods  do 
not  hear  any  rude  or  discordant  sound,  as  we 
learn  from  the  echo  ;  and  I  know  that  the  na 
ture  toward  which  I  launch  these  sounds  is  so 
rich  that  it  will  modulate  anew  and  wonderfully 
improve  my  rudest  strain. 


JET.  32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  213 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   MILTON). 

CONCORD,  April  3,  1850. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  thank  you  for  your  letter, 
and  I  will  endeavor  to  record  some  of  the 
thoughts  which  it  suggests,  whether  pertinent 
or  not.  You  speak  of  poverty  and  dependence. 
Who  are  poor  and  dependent  ?  Who  are  rich 
and  independent  ?  When  was  it  that  men 
agreed  to  respect  the  appearance  and  not  the 
reality  ?  Why  should  the  appearance  appear  ? 
Are  we  well  acquainted,  then,  with  the  reality? 
There  is  none  who  does  not  lie  hourly  in  the 
respect  he  pays  to  false  appearance.  How  sweet 
it  would  be  to  treat  men  and  things,  for  an  hour, 
for  just  what  they  are !  We  wonder  that  the 
sinner  does  not  confess  his  sin.  When  we  are 
weary  with  travel,  we  lay  down  our  load  and 
rest  by  the  wayside.  So,  when  we  are  weary 
with  the  burden  of  life,  why  do  we  not  lay  down 
this  load  of  falsehoods  which  we  have  volun 
teered  to  sustain,  and  be  refreshed  as  never 
mortal  was  ?  Let  the  beautiful  laws  prevail. 
Let  us  not  weary  ourselves  by  resisting  them. 
When  we  would  rest  our  bodies  we  cease  to 
support  them  ;  we  recline  on  the  lap  of  earth. 
So,  when  we  would  rest  our  spirits,  we  must 
recline  on  the  Great  Spirit.  Let  things  alone ; 
let  them  weigh  what  they  will ;  let  them  soar  or 


214    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1850, 

fall.  To  succeed  in  letting  only  one  thing  alone 
in  a  winter  morning,  if  it  be  only  one  poor 
frozen-thawed  apple  that  hangs  on  a  tree,  what 
a  glorious  achievement !  Methinks  it  lightens 
through  the  dusky  universe.  What  an  infinite 
wealth  we  have  discovered !  God  reigns,  i.  e., 
when  we  take  a  liberal  view,  —  when  a  liberal 
view  is  presented  us. 

Let  God  alone  if  need  be.  Methinks,  if  I 
loved  him  more,  I  should  keep  him,  —  I  should 
keep  myself  rather,  —  at  a  more  respectful  dis 
tance.  It  is  not  when  I  am  going  to  meet  him, 
but  when  I  am  just  turning  away  and  leaving 
him  alone,  that  I  discover  that  God  is.  I  say, 
God.  I  am  not  sure  that  that  is  the  name. 
You  will  know  whom  I  mean. 

If  for  a  moment  we  make  way  with  our  petty 
selves,  wish  no  ill  to  anything,  apprehend  no  ill, 
cease  to  be  but  as  the  crystal  which  reflects 
a  ray,  —  what  shall  we  not  reflect !  What  a 
universe  will  appear  crystallized  and  radiant 
around  us  ! 

I  should  say,  let  the  Muse  lead  the  Muse,  — 
let  the  understanding  lead  the  understanding, 
though  in  any  case  it  is  the  farthest  forward 
which  leads  them  both.  If  the  Muse  accompany, 
she  is  no  muse,  but  an  amusement.  The  Muse 
should  lead  like  a  star  which  is  very  far  off ; 
but  that  does  not  imply  that  we  are  to  follow 


^T.32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  215 

foolishly,  falling  into  sloughs  and  over  preci 
pices,  for  it  is  not  foolishness,  but  understand 
ing,  which  is  to  follow,  which  the  Muse  is  ap 
pointed  to  lead,  as  a  fit  guide  of  a  fit  follower. 

Will  you  live  ?  or  will  you  be  embalmed  ? 
Will  you  live,  though  it  be  astride  of  a  sun 
beam  ;  or  will  you  repose  safely  in  the  cata 
combs  for  a  thousand  years  ?  In  the  former 
case,  the  worst  accident  that  can  happen  is  that 
you  may  break  your  neck.  Will  you  break 
your  heart,  your  soul,  to  save  your  neck  ?  Necks 
and  pipe-stems  are  fated  to  be  broken.  Men 
make  a  great  ado  about  the  folly  of  demand 
ing  too  much  of  life  (or  of  eternity  ?),  and  of 
endeavoring  to  live  according  to  that  demand. 
It  is  much  ado  about  nothing.  No  harm  ever 
came  from  that  quarter.  I  am  not  afraid  that 
I  shall  exaggerate  the  value  and  significance  of 
life,  but  that  I  shall  not  be  up  to  the  occasion 
which  it  is.  I  shall  be  sorry  to  remember  that 
I  was  there,  but  noticed  nothing  remarkable,  — 
not  so  much  as  a  prince  in  disguise;  lived  in 
the  golden  age  a  hired  man  ;  visited  Olym 
pus  even,  but  fell  asleep  after  dinner,  and  did 
not  hear  the  conversation  of  the  gods.  I  lived 
in  Judaea  eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  but  I 
never  knew  that  there  was  such  a  one  as  Christ 
among  my  contemporaries !  If  there  is  any 
thing  more  glorious  than  a  congress  of  men 


216    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT.    [1850, 

a-framing  or  amending  of  a  constitution  going 
on,  which  I  suspect  there  is,  I  desire  to  see  the 
morning  papers.  I  am  greedy  of  the  faintest 
rumor,  though  it  were  got  by  listening  at  the 
key-hole.  I  will  dissipate  myself  in  that  direc 
tion. 

I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  find  what  I  have 
said  on  Friendship  worthy  of  attention.  I  wish 
I  could  have  the  benefit  of  your  criticism;  it 
would  be  a  rare  help  to  me.  Will  you  not 
communicate  it  ? 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   MILTON). 

CONCORD,  May  28,  1850. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  "I  never  found  any  content 
ment  in  the  life  which  the  newspapers  record," 
—  anything  of  more  value  than  the  cent  which 
they  cost.  Contentment  in  being  covered  with 
dust  an  inch  deep !  We  who  walk  the  streets, 
and  hold  time  together,  are  but  the  refuse  of 
ourselves,  and  that  life  is  for  the  shells  of  us,  — 
of  our  body  and  our  mind,  —  for  our  scurf,  — 
a  thoroughly  scurvy  life.  It  is  coffee  made  of 
coffee-grounds  the  twentieth  time,  which  was 
only  coffee  the  first  time,  —  while  the  living 
water  leaps  and  sparkles  by  our  doors.  I  know 
some  who,  in  their  charity,  give  their  coffee- 
grounds  to  the  poor !  We,  demanding  news, 
and  putting  up  with  such  news  !  Is  it  a  new 


JST.  32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  217 

convenience,  or  a  new  accident,  or,  rather,  a  new 
perception  of  the  truth  that  we  want ! 

You  say  that  "  the  serene  hours  in  which 
friendship,  books,  nature,  thought,  seem  alone 
primary  considerations,  visit  you  but  faintly." 
Is  not  the  attitude  of  expectation  somewhat 
divine  ?  —  a  sort  of  home  -  made  divineness  ? 
Does  it  not  compel  a  kind  of  sphere-music  to 
attend  on  it  ?  And  do  not  its  satisfactions 
merge  at  length,  by  insensible  degrees,  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  thing  expected  ? 

What  if  I  should  forget  to  write  about  my 
not  writing  ?  It  is  not  worth  the  while  to  make 
that  a  theme.  It  is  as  if  I  had  written  every 
day.  It  is  as  if  I  had  never  written  before.  I 
wonder  that  you  think  so  much  about  it,  for  not 
writing  is  the  most  like  writing,  in  my  case,  of 
anything  I  know. 

Why  will  you  not  relate  to  me  your  dream  ? 
That  would  be  to  realize  it  somewhat.  You  tell 
me  that  you  dream,  but  not  what  you  dream.  I 
can  guess  what  comes  to  pass.  So  do  the  frogs 
dream.  Would  that  I  knew  what.  I  have 
never  found  out  whether  they  are  awake  or 
asleep,  —  whether  it  is  day  or  night  with  them. 

I  am  preaching,  mind  you,  to  bare  walls,  that 
is,  to  myself  ;  and  if  you  have  chanced  to  come 
in  and  occupy  a  pew,  do  not  think  that  my  re 
marks  are  directed  at  you  particularly,  and  so 


218    GOLDEN  AGE  OF  ACHIEVEMENT,    [1850, 

slam  the  seat  in  disgust.  This  discourse  was 
written  long  before  these  exciting  times. 

Some  absorbing  employment  on  your  higher 
ground,  —  your  upland  farm,  —  whither  no  cart- 
path  leads,  but  where  you  mount  alone  with 
your  hoe,  —  where  the  life  everlasting  grows; 
there  you  raise  a  crop  which  needs  not  to  be 
brought  down  into  the  valley  to  a  market  ; 
which  you  barter  for  heavenly  products. 

Do  you  separate  distinctly  enough  the  support 
of  your  body,  from  that  of  your  essence  ?  By 
how  distinct  a  course  commonly  are  these  two 
ends  attained!  Not  that  they  should  not  be 
attained  by  one  and  the  same  means,  —  that,  in 
deed,  is  the  rarest  success,  —  but  there  is  no 
half  and  half  about  it. 

I  shall  be  glad  to  read  my  lecture  to  a  small 
audience  in  Worcester  such  as  you  describe,  and 
will  only  require  that  my  expenses  be  paid.  If 
only  the  parlor  be  large  enough  for  an  echo,  and 
the  audience  will  embarrass  themselves  with 
hearing  as  much  as  the  lecturer  would  otherwise 
embarrass  himself  with  reading.  But  I  warn 
you  that  this  is  no  better  calculated  for  a  pro 
miscuous  audience  than  the  last  two  which  I  read 
to  you.  It  requires,  in  every  sense,  a  concor 
dant  audience. 

I  will  come  on  next  Saturday  and  spend  Sun 
day  with  you  if  you  wish  it.  Say  so  if  you  do. 


MT.  32.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  219 

"  Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring1." 

Be  not  deterred  by  melancholy  on  the  path 
which  leads  to  immortal  health  and  joy.  When 
they  tasted  of  the  water  of  the  river  over  which 
they  were  to  go,  they  thought  it  tasted  a  little 
bitterish  to  the  palate,  but  it  proved  sweeter 
when  it  was  down. 

H.  D.  T. 

NOTE.  —  The  "companion"  of  his  walks,  mentioned  by 
Thoreau  in  November,  1849,  was  Ellery  Channing ;  the  neigh 
bor  who  insisted  on  talking-  of  Turkey  was  perhaps  Emerson, 
who,  after  his  visit  to  Europe  in  1848,  was  more  interested  in 
its  politics  than  before.  Pencil-making-  was  Thoreau's  manual 
work  for  many  years  ;  and  it  must  have  been  about  this  time 
(1849-50)  that  he  "  had  occasion  to  go  to  New  York  to  peddle 
some  pencils,"  as  he  says  in  his  journal  for  November  20, 1853. 
He  adds,  "  I  was  obliged  to  manufacture  one  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  pencils,  and  slowly  dispose  of,  and  finally  sacrifice 
them,  in  order  to  pay  an  assumed  debt  of  one  hundred  dol 
lars."  This  debt  was  perhaps  for  the  printing  of  the  Week, 
published  in  1849,  and  paid  for  in  1853.  Thoreau's  pencils 
have  sold  (in  1893)  for  25  cents  each.  For  other  facts  concern 
ing  his  debt  to  James  Munroe,  see  Sanborn's  Thoreau,  pp.  230, 
235. 


III.    FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS. 

TO    R.    W.    EMERSON1    (AT    CONCORD). 

FIRE  ISLAND  BEACH, 
Thursday  morning-,  July  25,  1850. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  I  am  writing  this  at  the 
house  of  Smith  Oakes,  within  one  mile  of  the 
wreck.  He  is  the  one  who  rendered  most  assist 
ance.  William  H.  Charming  came  down  with 
me,  but  I  have  not  seen  Arthur  Fuller,  nor  Gree- 
ley,  nor  Marcus  Spring.  Spring  and  Charles 
Sumner  were  here  yesterday,  but  left  soon.  Mr. 
Oakes  and  wife  tell  me  (all  the  survivors  came, 
or  were  brought,  directly  to  their  house)  that 
the  ship  struck  at  ten  minutes  after  four  A.  M., 
and  all  hands,  being  mostly  in  their  mghtclothes, 
made  haste  to  the  forecastle,  the  water  coming- 
in  at  once.  There  they  remained  ;  the  passengers 
in  the  forecastle,  the  crew  above  it,  doing  what 

1  It  will  readily  be  seen  that  this  letter  relates  to  the  ship 
wreck  on  Fire  Island,  near  New  York,  in  which  Margaret  Ful 
ler,  Countess  Ossoli,  with  her  husband  and  child,  was  lost.  A 
letter  with  no  date  of  the  year,  but  probably  written  February 
15,  1840,  from  Emerson  to  Thoreau,  represents  them  both  as 
taking-  much  trouble  about  a  house  in  Concord  for  Mrs.  Fuller, 
the  mother  of  Margaret,  who  had  just  sold  her  Groton  house, 
and  wished  to  live  with  her  daughter  near  Emerson. 


2ET.33.]  TO  R.   W.   EMERSON.  221 

they  could.  Every  wave  lifted  the  forecastle 
roof  and  washed  over  those  within.  The  first 
man  got  ashore  at  nine ;  many  from  nine  to 
noon.  At  flood  tide,  about  half  past  three 
o'clock,  when  the  ship  broke  up  entirely,  they 
came  out  of  the  forecastle,  and  Margaret  sat 
with  her  back  to  the  foremast,  with  her  hands 
on  her  knees,  her  husband  and  child  already 
drowned.  A  great  wave  came  and  washed  her 
aft.  The  steward  (?)  had  just  before  taken  her 
child  and  started  for  shore.  Both  were  drowned. 

The  broken  desk,  in  a  bag,  containing  no  very 
valuable  papers ;  a  large  black  leather  trunk, 
with  an  upper  and  under  compartment,  the 
upper  holding  books  and  papers ;  a  carpet-bag, 
probably  Ossoli's,  and  one  of  his  shoes  (?)  are 
all  the  Ossoli  effects  known  to  have  been  found. 
Four  bodies  remain  to  be  found :  the  two  Ossolis, 
Horace  Sumner,  and  a  sailor.  I  have  visited 
the  child's  grave.  Its  body  will  probably  be 
taken  away  to-day.  The  wreck  is  to  be  sold  at 
auction,  excepting  the  hull,  to-day. 

The  mortar  would  not  go  off.  Mrs.  Hasty, 
the  captain's  wife,  told  Mrs.  Oakes  that  she  and 
Margaret  divided  their  money,  and  tied  up  the 
halves  in  handkerchiefs  around  their  persons; 
that  Margaret  took  sixty  or  seventy  dollars. 
Mrs.  Hasty,  who  can  tell  all  about  Margaret  up 
to  eleven  o'clock  on  Friday,  is  said  to  be  going 


222          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1850, 

to  Portland,  New  England,  to-day.  She  and 
Mrs.  Fuller  must,  and  probably  will,  come  to 
gether.  The  cook,  the  last  to  leave,  and  the 
steward  (?)  will  know  the  rest.  I  shall  try  to 
see  them.  In  the  mean  while  I  shall  do  what  I 
can  to  recover  property  and  obtain  particulars 
hereabouts.  William  H.  Charming  —  did  I 
write  it  ?  —  has  come  with  me.  Arthur  Fuller  1 
has  this  moment  reached  the  house.  He  reached 
the  beach  last  night.  We  got  here  yesterday 
noon.  A  good  part  of  the  wreck  still  holds  to 
gether  where  she  struck,  and  something  may 
come  ashore  with  her  fragments.  The  last  body 
was  found  on  Tuesday,  three  miles  west.  Mrs. 
Oakes  dried  the  papers  which  were  in  the  trunk, 
and  she  says  they  appeared  to  be  of  various 
kinds.  "  Would  they  cover  that  table  ?  "  (a 
small  round  one).  "  They  would  if  spread  out. 
Some  were  tied  up.  There  were  twenty  or  thirty 
books  "  in  the  same  half  of  the  trunk.  Another 
smaller  trunk,  empty,  came  ashore,  but  there  was 
no  mark  on  it."  She  speaks  of  Paulina  as  if  she 
might  have  been  a  sort  of  nurse  to  the  child. 
I  expect  to  go  to  Patchogue,  whence  the  pilferers 
must  have  chiefly  come,  and  advertise,  etc. 

1  Rev.  A.  B.  Fuller,  then  of  Manchester,  N.  H.,  afterward 
of  Boston ;  a  brother  of  Margaret,  who  died  a  chaplain  in  the 
Civil  War. 


JET.  33.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  223 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (iX    MILTON). 

CONCORD,  August  9,  1850. 

MK.  BLAKE,  —  I  received  your  letter  just  as 
I  was  rushing  to  Fire  Island  beach  to  recover 
what  remained  of  Margaret  Fuller,  and  read  it 
on  the  way.  That  event  and  its  train,  as  much 
as  anything,  have  prevented  my  answering  it  be 
fore.  It  is  wisest  to  speak  when  you  are  spoken 
to.  I  will  now  endeavor  to  reply,  at  the  risk  of 
having  nothing  to  say. 

I  find  that  actual  events,  notwithstanding  the 
singular  prominence  which  we  all  allow  them,  are 
far  less  real  than  the  creations  of  my  imagina 
tion.  They  are  truly  visionary  and  insignificant, 

—  all  that  we  commonly  call  life  and  death,  — 
arid  affect  me  less  than  my  dreams.     This  petty 
stream  which  from  time  to  time  swells  and  car 
ries  away  the  mills  and  bridges  of  our  habitual 
life,  and  that  mightier  stream  or  ocean  on  which 
we  securely  float,  —  what  makes  the  difference 
between  them  ?     I  have  in  my  pocket  a  button 
which  I  ripped  off  the  coat  of  the  Marquis  of 
Ossoli,  on  the  seashore,  the  other  day.      Held 
up,  it  intercepts  the  light,  —  an  actual  button, 

—  and  yet  all  the  life  it  is  connected  with  is  less 
substantial  to  me,  and  interests  me  less,  than  my 
faintest  dream.     Our  thoughts  are  the  epochs  in 
our  lives :  all  else  is  but  as  a  journal  of  the  winds 
that  blew  while  we  were  here. 


224          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1850, 

I  say  to  myself,  Do  a  little  more  of  that  work 
which  you  have  confessed  to  be  good.  You  are 
neither  satisfied  nor  dissatisfied  with  yourself, 
without  reason.  Have  you  not  a  thinking  fac 
ulty  of  inestimable  value  ?  If  there  is  an  ex 
periment  which  you  would  like  to  try,  try  it.  Do 
not  entertain  doubts  if  they  are  not  agreeable  to 
you.  Remember  that  you  need  not  eat  unless 
you  are  hungry.  Do  not  read  the  newspapers. 
Improve  every  opportunity  to  be  melancholy.  As 
for  health,  consider  yourself  well.  Do  not  en 
gage  to  find  things  as  you  think  they  are.  Do 
what  nobody  else  can  do  for  you.  Omit  to  do 
anything  else.  It  is  not  easy  to  make  our  lives 
respectable  by  any  course  of  activity.  We  must 
repeatedly  withdraw  into  our  shells  of  thought, 
like  the  tortoise,  somewhat  helplessly  ;  yet  there 
is  more  than  philosophy  in  that. 

Do  not  waste  any  reverence  on  my  attitude. 
I  merely  manage  to  sit  up  where  I  have  dropped. 
I  am  sure  that  my  acquaintances  mistake  me. 
They  ask  my  advice  on  high  matters,  but  they 
do  not  know  even  how  poorly  on  't  I  am  for  hats 
and  shoes.  I  have  hardly  a  shift.  Just  as 
shabby  as  I  am  in  my  outward  apparel,  ay,  and 
more  lamentably  shabby,  am  I  in  my  inward 
substance.  If  I  should  turn  myself  inside  out, 
my  rags  and  meanness  would  indeed  appear.  I 
am  something  to  him  that  made  me,  undoubt- 


J5T.33.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  225 

edly,  but  not  much  to  any  other  that  he  has 
made. 

Would  it  not  be  worth  while  to  discover  na 
ture  in  Milton  ?  be  native  to  the  universe  ?  I, 
too,  love  Concord  best,  but  I  am  glad  when  I 
discover,  in  oceans  and  wildernesses  far  away, 
the  material  of  a  million  Concords  :  indeed,  I  am 
lost,  unless  I  discover  them.  I  see  less  differ 
ence  between  a  city  and  a  swamp  than  formerly. 
It  is  a  swamp,  however,  too  dismal  and  dreary 
even  for  me,  and  I  should  be  glad  if  there  were 
fewer  owls,  and  frogs,  and  mosquitoes  in  it.  I 
prefer  ever  a  more  cultivated  place,  free  from 
miasma  and  crocodiles.  I  am  so  sophisticated, 
and  I  will  take  my  choice. 

As  for  missing  friends,  —  what  if  we  do  miss 
one  another?  have  we  not  agreed  on  a  rendez 
vous  ?  While  each  wanders  his  own  way  through 
the  wood,  without  anxiety,  ay,  with  serene  joy, 
though  it  be  on  his  hands  and  knees,  over  rocks 
and  fallen  trees,  he  cannot  but  be  in  the  right 
way.  There  is  no  wrong  way  to  him.  How 
can  he  be  said  to  miss  his  friend,  whom  the 
fruits  still  nourish  and  the  elements  sustain  ?  A 
man  who  missed  his  friend  at  a  turn,  went  on 
buoyantly,  dividing  the  friendly  air,  and  hum 
ming  a  tune  to  himself,  ever  and  anon  kneeling 
with  delight  to  study  each  little  lichen  in  his 
path,  and  scarcely  made  three  miles  a  day  for 


226          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1850, 

friendship.  As  for  conforming  outwardly,  and 
living  your  own  life  inwardly,  I  do  not  think 
much  of  that.  Let  not  your  right  hand  know 
what  your  left  hand  does  in  that  line  of  busi 
ness.  It  will  prove  a  failure.  Just  as  success 
fully  can  you  walk  against  a  sharp  steel  edge 
which  divides  you  cleanly  right  and  left.  Do 
you  wish  to  try  your  ability  to  resist  disten 
sion  ?  It  is  a  greater  strain  than  any  soul  can 
long  endure.  When  you  get  God  to  pulling  one 
way,  and  the  devil  the  other,  each  having  his 
feet  well  braced,  —  to  say  nothing  of  the  con 
science  sawing  transversely,  —  almost  any  tim 
ber  will  give  way. 

I  do  not  dare  invite  you  earnestly  to  come  to 
Concord,  because  I  know  too  well  that  the  ber 
ries  are  not  thick  in  my  fields,  and  we  should 
have  to  take  it  out  in  viewing  the  landscape. 
But  come,  on  every  account,  and  we  will  see  — 
one  another. 

No  letters  of  the  year  1851  have  been  found 
by  me.  On  the  27th  of  December,  1850,  Mr. 
Cabot  wrote  to  say  that  the  Boston  Society  of 
Natural  History,  of  which  he  was  secretary,  had 
elected  Thoreau  a  corresponding  member,  "  with 
all  the  honores,  privilegia,  etc.,  ad  gradum  tuum 
pertinentia,  without  the  formality  of  paying  any 
entrance  fee,  or  annual  subscription.  Your  du- 


ssT.34.]  TO   T.    W.   HIGGINSON.  227 

ties  in  return  are  to  advance  the  interests  of  the 
Society  by  communications  or  otherwise,  as  shall 
seem  good."  This  is  believed  to  be  the  only 
learned  body  which  honored  itself  by  electing 
Thoreau.  The  immediate  occasion  of  this  elec 
tion  was  the  present,  by  Thoreau,  to  the  Society, 
of  a  fine  specimen  of  the  American  goshawk, 
caught  or  shot  by  Jacob  Farmer,  which  Mr. 
Cabot  acknowledged,  December  18,  1849,  say 
ing  :  "It  was  first  described  by  Wilson ;  lately 
Audubon  has  identified  it  with  the  European 
goshawk,  thereby  committing  a  very  flagrant 
blunder.  It  is  usually  a  very  rare  species  with 
us.  The  European  bird  is  used  in  hawking ; 
and  doubtless  ours  would  be  equally  game.  If 
Mr.  Farmer  skins  him  now,  he  will  have  to  take 
second  cut ;  for  his  skin  is  already  off  and  stuffed, 
—  his  remains  dissected,  measured,  and  deposited 
in  alcohol." 

TO    T.    W.    HIGGINSON    (AT    BOSTON). 

CONCORD,  April  2-3,  1852. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  do  not  see  that  I  can  refuse 
to  read  another  lecture,  but  what  makes  me  hesi 
tate  is  the  fear  that  I  have  not  another  available 
which  will  entertain  a  large  audience,  though 
I  have  thoughts  to  offer  which  I  think  will  be 
quite  as  worthy  of  their  attention.  However,  I 
will  try ;  for  the  prospect  of  earning  a  few  dol- 


228          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

lars  is  alluring.  As  far  as  I  can  foresee,  my 
subject  would  be  "Reality"  rather  transcenden- 
tally  treated.  It  lies  still  in  "  Walden,  or  Life 
in  the  Woods."  Since  you  are  kind  enough  to 
undertake  the  arrangements,  I  will  leave  it  to 
you  to  name  an  evening  of  next  week,  decide 
on  the  most  suitable  room,  and  advertise,  —  if 
this  is  not  taking  you  too  literally  at  your  word. 
If  you  still  think  it  worth  the  while  to  attend 
to  this,  will  you  let  me  know  as  soon  as  may  be 
what  evening  will  be  most  convenient?  I  cer 
tainly  do  not  feel  prepared  to  offer  myself  as  a 
lecturer  to  the  Boston  public,  and  hardly  know 
whether  more  to  dread  a  small  audience  or 
a  large  one.  Nevertheless,  I  will  repress  this 
squeamishness,  and  propose  no  alteration  in  your 
arrangements.  I  shall  be  glad  to  accept  your 
invitation  to  tea. 

This  lecture  was  given,  says  Colonel  Higgin- 
son,  "  at  the  Mechanics'  Apprentices  Library  in 
Boston,  with  the  snow  outside,  and  the  young 
boys  rustling  their  newspapers  among  the  Al- 
cotts  and  Blakes."  Or,  possibly,  this  remark 
may  apply  to  a  former  lecture  in  the  same  year, 
which  was  that  in  which  Thoreau  first  lectured 
habitually  away  from  Concord.  He  commenced 
by  accepting  an  invitation  to  speak  at  Leyden 
Hall,  in  Plymouth,  where  his  friends  the  Wat- 


JET.  34.]  TO  MARSTON  WATSON.  229 

/ 

sons  had  organized  Sunday  services,  that  the 
Transcendentalists  and  Abolitionists  might  have 
a  chance  to  be  heard  at  a  time  when  they  were 
generally  excluded  from  the  popular  "  Lyceum 
courses  "  throughout  New  England.  Mr.  B.  M. 
Watson  says :  — 

"  I  have  found  two  letters  from  Thoreau  in 
answer  to  my  invitation  in  1852  to  address  our 
congregation  at  Leydeii  Hall  on  Sunday  morn 
ings,  —  an  enterprise  I  undertook  about  that 
time.  I  find  among  the  distinguished  men  who 
addressed  us  the  names  of  Thoreau,  Emerson, 
Ellery  Channing,  Alcott,  Higginson,  Remond, 
S.  Johnson,  F.  J.  Appleton,  Edmund  Quincy, 
Garrison,  Phillips,  J.  P.  Lesley,  Shackford,  W. 
F.  Channing,  N.  H.  Whiting,  Adiii  Ballou,  Abby 
K.  Foster  and  her  husband,  J.  T.  Sargent,  T. 
T.  Stone,  Jones  Very,  Wasson,  Hurlbut,  F.  W. 
Holland,  and  Scherb ;  so  you  may  depend  we 
had  some  fun." 

These  letters  were  mere  notes.  The  first, 
dated  February  17, 1852,  says  :  "  I  have  not  yet 
seen  Mr.  Channing,  though  I  believe  he  is  in 
town,  —  having  decided  to  come  to  Plymouth 
myself,  —  but  I  will  let  him  know  that  he  is 
expected.  Mr.  Daniel  Foster  wishes  me  to  say 
that  he  accepts  your  invitation,  and  that  he  would 
like  to  come  Sunday  after  next.  I  will  take  the 
Saturday  afternoon  train.  I  shall  be  glad  to 


230          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

get  a  winter  view  of  Plymouth  Harbor,  and  see 
where  your  garden  lies  under  the  snow." 
The  second  letter  follows  :  — 

TO   MARSTON    WATSON    (AT   PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  December  31,  1852. 

MR.  WATSON,  —  I  would  be  glad  to  visit  Plym 
outh  again,  but  at  present  I  have  nothing  to 
read  which  is  not  severely  heathenish,  or  at  least 
secular,  —  which  the  dictionary  defines  as  "  re 
lating  to  affairs  of  the  present  world,  not  holy," 
—  though  not  necessarily  unholy  ;  nor  have  I 
any  leisure  to  prepare  it.  My  writing  at  present 
is  profane,  yet  in  a  good  sense,  and,  as  it  were, 
sacredly,  I  may  say ;  for,  finding  the  air  of  the 
temple  too  close,  I  sat  outside.  Don't  think  I 
say  this  to  get  off ;  no,  no !  It  will  not  do  to 
read  such  things  to  hungry  ears.  "  If  they  ask 
for  bread,  will  you  give  them  a  stone  ?  "  When 
I  have  something  of  the  right  kind,  depend  upon 
it  I  will  let  you  know. 

Up  to  1848,  when  he  was  invited  to  lecture 
before  the  Salem  Lyceum  by  Nathaniel  Haw 
thorne,  then  its  secretary,  Thoreau  seems  to  have 
spoken  publicly  very  little  except  in  Concord ; 
nor  did  he  extend  the  circuit  of  his  lectures  much 
until  his  two  books  had  made  him  known  as  a 
thinker.  There  was  little  to  attract  a  popular 


jsT.35.]  LYCEUM  LECTURES.  231 

audience  in  his  manner  or  his  matter  ;  but  it  was 
the  era  of  lectures,  and  if  one  could  once  gain 
admission  to  the  circle  of  "  lyceum  lecturers,"  it 
did  not  so  much  matter  what  he  said ;  a  lecture 
was  a  lecture,  as  a  sermon  was  a  sermon,  good, 
bad,  or  indifferent.  But  it  was  common  to  ex 
clude  the  anti-slavery  speakers  from  the  lyceums, 
even  those  of  more  eloquence  than  Thoreau ; 
this  led  to  invitations  from  the  small  band  of 
reformers  scattered  about  New  England  and 
New  York,  so  that  the  most  unlikely  of  platform 
speakers  (Ellery  Channing,  for  example)  some 
times  gave  lectures  at  Plymouth,  Greenfield, 
Newburyport,  or  elsewhere.  The  present  fash 
ion  of  parlor  lectures  had  not  come  in ;  yet  at 
Worcester  Thoreau's  friends  early  organized  for 
him  something  of  that  kind,  as  his  letters  to  Mr. 
Blake  show.  In  default  of  an  audience  of  num 
bers,  Thoreau  fell  into  the  habit  of  lecturing  in 
his  letters  to  this  friend ;  the  most  marked  in 
stance  being  the  thoughtful  essay  on  Love  and 
Chastity  which  makes  the  bulk  of  his  epistle 
dated  September,  1852.  Like  most  of  his  seri 
ous  writing,  this  was  made  up  from  his  daily 
journal,  and  hardly  comes  under  the  head  of 
"  familiar  letters  ;  "  the  didactic  purpose  is  rather 
too  apparent.  Yet  it  cannot  be  spared  from  any 
collection  of  his  epistles,  —  none  of  which  flowed 
more  directly  from  the  quickened  moral  nature 
of  the  man. 


232          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

TO   SOPHIA   THOREAU    (AT   BANGOR). 

CONCORD,  July  13,  1852. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  I  am  a  miserable  letter- 
writer,  but  perhaps  if  I  should  say  this  at  length 
and  with  sufficient  emphasis  and  regret  it  would 
make  a  letter.  I  am  sorry  that  nothing  tran 
spires  here  of  much  moment ;  or,  I  should  rather 
say,  that  I  am  so  slackened  and  rusty,  like  the 
telegraph  wire  this  season,  that  no  wind  that 
blows  can  extract  music  from  me. 

I  am  not  on  the  trail  of  any  elephants  or  mas 
todons,  but  have  succeeded  in  trapping  only  a 
few  ridiculous  mice,  which  cannot  feed  my  im 
agination.  I  have  become  sadly  scientific.  I 
would  rather  come  upon  the  vast  valley-like 
"  spoor  "  only  of  some  celestial  beast  which  this 
world's  woods  can  no  longer  sustain,  than  spring 
my  net  over  a  bushel  of  moles.  You  must  do 
better  in  those  woods  where  you  are.  You  must 
have  some  adventures  to  relate  and  repeat  for 
years  to  come,  which  will  eclipse  even  mother's 
voyage  to  Goldsborough  and  Sissiboo. 

They  say  that  Mr.  Pierce,  the  presidential 
candidate,  was  in  town  last  5th  of  July,  visiting 
Hawthorne,  whose  college  chum  he  was ;  and 
that  Hawthorne  is  writing  a  life  of  him,  for 
electioneering  purposes. 

Concord  is  just  as  idiotic  as  ever  in  relation 


JET.  35.]  TO  SOPHIA    THOREAU.  233 

to  the  spirits  and  their  knockings.  Most  people 
here  believe  in  a  spiritual  world  which  no  respec 
table  junk  bottle,  which  had  not  met  with  a  slip, 
would  condescend  to  contain  even  a  portion  of 
for  a  moment,  —  whose  atmosphere  would  ex 
tinguish  a  candle  let  down  into  it,  like  a  well 
that  wants  airing ;  in  spirits  which  the  very  bull 
frogs  in  our  meadows  would  blackball.  Their 
evil  genius  is  seeing  how  low  it  can  degrade 
them.  The  hooting  of  owls,  the  croaking  of 
frogs,  is  celestial  wisdom  in  comparison.  If  I 
could  be  brought  to  believe  in  the  things  which 
they  believe,  I  should  make  haste  to  get  rid  of 
my  certificate  of  stock  in  this  and  the  next 
world's  enterprises,  and  buy  a  share  in  the  first 
Immediate  Annihilation  Company  that  offered. 
I  would  exchange  my  immortality  for  a  glass  of 
small  beer  this  hot  weather.  Where  are  the 
heathen  ?  Was  there  ever  any  superstition  be 
fore  ?  And  yet  I  suppose  there  may  be  a  vessel 
this  very  moment  setting  sail  from  the  coast  of 
North  America  to  that  of  Africa  with  a  mission 
ary  on  board  !  Consider  the  dawn  and  the  sun 
rise,  —  the  rainbow  and  the  evening,  —  the  words 
of  Christ  and  the  aspiration  of  all  the  saints  ! 
Hear  music  !  see,  smell,  taste,  feel,  hear,  —  any 
thing,  —  and  then  hear  these  idiots,  inspired  by 
the  cracking  of  a  restless  board,  humbly  asking, 
"  Please,  Spirit,  if  you  cannot  answer  by  knocks, 
answer  by  tips  of  the  table."  !!!!!!! 


234          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1852, 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  July  21,  1852. 

ME.  BLAKE,  —  I  am  too  stupidly  well  these 
days  to  write  to  you.  My  life  is  almost  altogether 
outward, —  all  shell  and  no  tender  kernel ;  so  that 
I  fear  the  report  of  it  would  be  only  a  nut  for 
you  to  crack,  with  no  meat  in  it  for  you  to  eat. 
Moreover,  you  have  not  cornered  me  up,  and  I 
enjoy  such  large  liberty  in  writing  to  you,  that  I 
feel  as  vague  as  the  air.  However,  I  rejoice  to  hear 
that  you  have  attended  so  patiently  to  anything 
which  I  have  said  heretofore,  and  have  detected 
any  truth  in  it.  It  encourages  me  to  say  more, 
—  not  in  this  letter,  I  fear,  but  in  some  book 
which  I  may  write  one  day.  I  am  glad  to  know 
that  I  am  as  much  to  any  mortal  as  a  persistent 
and  consistent  scarecrow  is  to  a  farmer,  —  such 
a  bundle  of  straw  in  a  man's  clothing  as  I  am, 
with  a  few  bits  of  tin  to  sparkle  in  the  sun 
dangling  about  me,  as  if  I  were  hard  at  work 
there  in  the  field.  However,  if  this  kind  of  life 
saves  any  man's  corn,  —  why,  he  is  the  gainer. 
I  am  not  afraid  that  you  will  flatter  me  as  long 
as  you  know  what  I  am,  as  well  as  what  I  think, 
or  aim  to  be,  and  distinguish  between  these  two, 
for  then  it  will  commonly  happen  that  if  you 
praise  the  last  you  will  condemn  the  first. 

I  remember  that  walk  to  Asnebumskit  very 


2ET.  35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  235 

well,  —  a  fit  place  to  go  to  on  a  Sunday ;  one  of 
the  true  temples  of  the  earth.  A  temple,  you 
know,  was  anciently  "  an  open  place  without  a 
roof,"  whose  walls  served  merely  to  shut  out  the 
world  and  direct  the  mind  toward  heaven ;  but 
a  modern  meeting-house  shuts  out  the  heavens, 
while  it  crowds  the  world  into  still  closer  quar 
ters.  Best  of  all  is  it  when,  as  on  a  mountain- 
top,  you  have  for  all  walls  your  own  elevation 
and  deeps  of  surrounding  ether.  The  partridge- 
berries,  watered  with  mountain  dews  which  are 
gathered  there,  are  more  memorable  to  me  than 
the  words  which  I  last  heard  from  the  pulpit 
at  least ;  and  for  my  part,  I  would  rather  look 
toward  Rutland  than  Jerusalem.  Rutland,  — • 
modern  town,  —  land  of  ruts,  —  trivial  and 
worn,  —  not  too  sacred,  —  with  no  holy  sepul 
chre,  but  profane  green  fields  and  dusty  roads, 
and  opportunity  to  live  as  holy  a  life  as  you 
can,  —  where  the  sacredness,  if  there  is  any,  is 
all  in  yourself  and  not  in  the  place. 

I  fear  that  your  Worcester  people  do  not  often 
enough  go  to  the  hilltops,  though,  as  I  am  told, 
the  springs  lie  nearer  to  the  surface  on  your 
hills  than  in  your  valleys.  They  have  the  repu 
tation  of  being  Free-Soilers.1  Do  they  insist  on 
a  free  atmosphere,  too,  that  is,  on  freedom  for 

1  The  name  of  a  political  party,  afterwards  called  "  Repub 
licans." 


236          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

the  head  or  brain  as  well  as  the  feet  ?  If  I  were 
consciously  to  join  any  party,  it  would  be  that 
which  is  the  most  free  to  entertain  thought. 

All  the  world  complain  nowadays  of  a  press 
of  trivial  duties  and  engagements,  which  pre 
vents  their  employing  themselves  on  some  higher 
ground  they  know  of  ;  but,  undoubtedly,  if  they 
were  made  of  the  right  stuff  to  work  on  that 
higher  ground,  provided  they  were  released  from 
all  those  engagements,  they  would  now  at  once 
fulfill  the  superior  engagement,  and  neglect  all 
the  rest,  as  naturally  as  they  breathe.  They  would 
never  be  caught  saying  that  they  had  no  time 
for  this,  when  the  dullest  man  knows  that  this 
is  all  that  he  has  time  for.  No  man  who  acts 
from  a  sense  of  duty  ever  puts  the  lesser  duty 
above  the  greater.  No  man  has  the  desire  and 
the  ability  to  work  011  high  things,  but  he  has 
also  the  ability  to  build  himself  a  high  staging. 

As  for  passing  tkrouc/k  any  great  and  glo 
rious  experience,  and  rising  above  it,  as  an  eagle 
might  fly  athwart  the  evening  sky  to  rise  into 
still  brighter  and  fairer  regions  of  the  heavens,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  ever  sailed  so  creditably ;  but 
my  bark  ever  seemed  thwarted  by  some  side 
wind,  and  went  off  over  the  edge,  and  now  only 
occasionally  tacks  back  toward  the  centre  of  that 
sea  again.  I  have  outgrown  nothing  good,  but, 
I  do  not  fear  to  say,  fallen  behind  by  whole  con- 


MT.35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  237 

tinents  of  virtue,  which  should  have  been  passed 
as  islands  in  my  course  ;  but  I  trust  —  what  else 
can  I  trust?  that,  with  a  stiff  wind,  some  Fri 
day,  when  I  have  thrown  some  of  my  cargo 
overboard,  I  may  make  up  for  all  that  distance 
lost. 

Perchance  the  time  will  come  when  we  shall 
not  be  content  to  go  back  and  forth  upon  a  raft 
to  some  huge  Homeric  or  Shakespearean  India- 
man  that  lies  upon  the  reef,  but  build  a  bark 
out  of  that  wreck  and  others  that  are  buried  in 
the  sands  of  this  desolate  island,  and  such  new 
timber  as  may  be  required,  in  which  to  sail  away 
to  whole  new  worlds  of  light  and  life,  where  our 
friends  are. 

Write  again.  There  is  one  respect  in  which 
you  did  not  finish  your  letter :  you  did  not  write 
it  with  ink,  and  it  is  not  so  good,  therefore, 
against  or  for  you  in  the  eye  of  the  law,  nor  in 
the  eye  of  H.  D.  T. 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

September,  1852. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  Here  come  the  sentences  which 
I  promised  you.  You  may  keep  them,  if  you 
will  regard  and  use  them  as  the  disconnected 
fragments  of  what  I  may  find  to  be  a  completer 
essay,  on  looking  over  my  journal,  at  last,  and 
may  claim  again. 


238          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1852, 

I  send  you  the  thoughts  on  Chastity  and  Sen 
suality  with  diffidence  and  shame,  not  knowing 
how  far  I  speak  to  the  condition  of  men  gener 
ally,  or  how  far  I  betray  my  peculiar  defects. 
Pray  enlighten  me  on  this  point  if  you  can. 

LOVE. 

What  the  essential  difference  between  man 
and  woman  is,  that  they  should  be  thus  attracted 
to  one  another,  no  one  has  satisfactorily  an 
swered.  Perhaps  we  must  acknowledge  the  just 
ness  of  the  distinction  which  assigns  to  man  the 
sphere  of  wisdom,  and  to  woman  that  of  love, 
though  neither  belongs  exclusively  to  either. 
Man  is  continually  saying  to  woman,  Why  will 
you  not  be  more  wise  ?  Woman  is  continually 
saying  to  man,  Why  will  you  not  be  more  lov 
ing  ?  It  is  not  in  their  wills  to  be  wise  or  to  be 
loving ;  but,  unless  each  is  both  wise  and  loving, 
there  can  be  neither  wisdom  nor  love. 

All  transcendent  goodness  is  one,  though 
appreciated  in  different  ways,  or  by  different 
senses.  In  beauty  we  see  it,  in  music  we  hear 
it,  in  fragrance  we  scent  it,  in  the  palatable  the 
pure  palate  tastes  it,  and  in  rare  health  the 
whole  body  feels  it.  The  variety  is  in  the  sur 
face  or  manifestation ;  but  the  radical  identity 
we  fail  to  express.  The  lover  sees  in  the  glance 
of  his  beloved  the  same  beauty  that  in  the  sun- 


JBT.SO.]        LOVE   AND  FRIENDSHIP.  239 

set  paints  the  western  skies.  It  is  the  same  dai- 
mon,  here  lurking  under  a  human  eyelid,  and 
there  under  the  closing  eyelids  of  the  day. 
Here,  in  small  compass,  is  the  ancient  and  natu 
ral  beauty  of  evening  and  morning.  What  lov 
ing  astronomer  has  ever  fathomed  the  ethereal 
depths  of  the  eye  ? 

The  maiden  conceals  a  fairer  flower  and 
sweeter  fruit  than  any  calyx  in  the  field ;  and, 
if  she  goes  with  averted  face,  confiding  in  her 
purity  and  high  resolves,  she  will  make  the  heav 
ens  retrospective,  and  all  nature  humbly  con 
fess  its  queen. 

Under  the  influence  of  this  sentiment,  man  is 
a  string  of  an  ^Eolian  harp,  which  vibrates  with 
the  zephyrs  of  the  eternal  morning. 

There  is  at  first  thought  something  trivial 
in  the  commonness  of  love.  So  many  Indian 
youths  and  maidens  along  these  banks  have  in 
ages  past  yielded  to  the  influence  of  this  great 
civilizer.  Nevertheless,  this  generation  is  not 
disgusted  nor  discouraged,  for  love  is  no  indi 
vidual's  experience ;  and  though  we  are  imper 
fect  mediums,  it  does  not  partake  of  our  imper 
fection  ;  though  we  are  finite,  it  is  infinite  and 
eternal ;  and  the  same  divine  influence  broods 
over  these  banks,  whatever  race  may  inhabit 
them,  and  perchance  still  would,  even  if  the  hu 
man  race  did  not  dwell  here. 


240          FRIENDS  AND   FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

Perhaps  an  instinct  survives  through  the  in- 
tensest  actual  love,  which  prevents  entire  aban 
donment  and  devotion,  and  makes  the  most  ar 
dent  lover  a  little  reserved.  It  is  the  anticipation 
of  change.  For  the  most  ardent  lover  is  not  the 
less  practically  wise,  and  seeks  a  love  which  will 
last  forever. 

Considering  how  few  poetical  friendships  there 
are,  it  is  remarkable  that  so  many  are  married. 
It  would  seem  as  if  men  yielded  too  easy  an 
obedience  to  nature  without  consulting  their  ge 
nius.  One  may  be  drunk  with  love  without 
being  any  nearer  to  finding  his  mate.  There  is 
more  of  good  nature  than  of  good  sense  at  the 
bottom  of  most  marriages.  But  the  good  nature 
must  have  the  counsel  of  the  good  spirit  or  In 
telligence.  If  common  sense  had  been  consulted, 
how  many  marriages  would  never  have  taken 
place ;  if  uncommon  or  divine  sense,  how  few 
marriages  such  as  we  witness  would  ever  have 
taken  place! 

Our  love  may  be  ascending  or  descending. 
What  is  its  character,  if  it  may  be  said  of  it,  — 

"  We  must  respect  the  souls  above 
But  only  those  below  we  love." 

Love  is  a  severe  critic.  Hate  can  pardon  more 
than  love.  They  who  aspire  to  love  worthily, 
subject  themselves  to  an  ordeal  more  rigid  than 
any  other. 


J5T.35.]  LOVE  IS  NOT  BLIND.  241 

Is  your  friend  such  a  one  that  an  increase  of 
worth  on  your  part  will  rarely  make  her  more 
your  friend?  Is  she  retained  —  is  she  attracted 
by  more  nobleness  in  you,  —  by  more  of  that 
virtue  which  is  peculiarly  yours ;  or  is  she  indif 
ferent  and  blind  to  that  ?  Is  she  to  be  flattered 
and  won  by  your  meeting  her  on  any  other  than 
the  ascending  path?  Then  duty  requires  that 
you  separate  from  her. 

Love  must  be  as  much  a  light  as  a  flame. 

Where  there  is  not  discernment,  the  behavior 
even  of  the  purest  soul  may  in  effect  amount  to 
coarseness. 

A  man  of  fine  perceptions  is  more  truly  femi 
nine  than  a  merely  sentimental  woman.  The 
heart  is  blind;  but  love  is  not  blind.  None  of 
the  gods  is  so  discriminating. 

In  love  and  friendship  the  imagination  is  as 
much  exercised  as  the  heart;  and  if  either  is 
outraged  the  other  will  be  estranged.  It  is  com 
monly  the  imagination  which  is  wounded  first, 
rather  than  the  heart,  —  it  is  so  much  the  more 
sensitive. 

Comparatively,  we  can  excuse  any  offense 
against  the  heart,  but  not  against  the  imagina 
tion.  The  imagination  knows  —  nothing  escapes 
its  glance  from  out  its  eyry  —  and  it  controls 
the  breast.  My  heart  may  still  yearn  toward 
the  valley,  but  my  imagination  will  not  permit 


242          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

me  to  jump  off  the  precipice  that  debars  me 
from  it,  for  it  is  wounded,  its  wings  are  clipt, 
and  it  cannot  fly,  even  descendingly.  Our 
"  blundering  hearts  !  "  some  poet  says.  The  im 
agination  never  forgets ;  it  is  a  re-membering.  It 
is  not  foundationless,  but  most  reasonable,  and 
it  alone  uses  all  the  knowledge  of  the  intellect. 

Love  is  the  profoundest  of  secrets.  Divulged, 
even  to  the  beloved,  it  is  no  longer  Love.  As 
if  it  were  merely  I  that  loved  you.  When  love 
ceases,  then  it  is  divulged. 

In  our  intercourse  with  one  we  love,  we  wish 
to  have  answered  those  questions  at  the  end  of 
which  we  do  not  raise  our  voice  ;  against  which 
we  put  no  interrogation-mark,  —  answered  with 
the  same  unfailing,  universal  aim  toward  every 
point  of  the  compass. 

I  require  that  thou  knowest  everything  with 
out  being  told  anything.  I  parted  from  my  be 
loved  because  there  was  one  thing  which  I  had 
to  tell  her.  She  questioned  me.  She  should 
have  known  all  by  sympathy.  That  I  had  to 
tell  it  her  was  the  difference  between  us,  —  the 
misunderstanding. 

A  lover  never  hears  anything  that  is  told,  for 
that  is  commonly  either  false  or  stale ;  but  he 
hears  things  taking  place,  as  the  sentinels  heard 
Trenck1  mining  in  the  ground,  and  thought  it 
was  moles. 

1  Baron  Trenck,  the  famous  prisoner. 


J5T.35.]  LOVE  AND  HATE.  243 

The  relation  may  be  profaned  in  many  ways. 
The  parties  may  not  regard  it  with  equal  sacred- 
ness.  What  if  the  lover  should  learn  that  his 
beloved  dealt  in  incanta-tions  and  philters! 
What  if  he  should  hear  that  she  consulted  a 
clairvoyant !  The  spell  would  be  instantly 
broken. 

If  to  chaffer  and  higgle  are  bad  in  trade, 
they  are  much  worse  in  Love.  It  demands 
directness  as  of  an  arrow. 

There  is  danger  that  we  lose  sight  of  what 
our  friend  is  absolutely,  while  considering  what 
she  is  to  us  alone. 

The  lover  wants  no  partiality.  He  says,  Be 
so  kind  as  to  be  just. 

Canst  thou  love  with  thy  mind, 

And  reason  with  thy  heart  ? 
Canst  thou  be  kind, 

And  from  thy  darling  part  ? 

Can'st  thou  range  earth,  sea,  and  air, 
And  so  meet  me  everywhere  ? 
Through  all  events  I  will  pursue  thee, 
Through  all  persons  I  will  woo  thee. 

I  need  thy  hate  as  much  as  thy  love.  Thou 
wilt  not  repel  me  entirely  when  thou  repellest 
what  is  evil  in  me. 

Indeed,  indeed,  I  cannot  tell, 
Though  I  ponder  on  it  well, 
Which  were  easier  to  state, 
All  my  love  or  all  my  hate. 


244          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

Surely,  surely,  thou  wilt  trust  me 
When  I  say  thou  doth  disgust  me. 
O,  I  hate  thee  with  a  hate 
That  would  fain  annihilate  ; 
Yet,  sometimes,  against  my  will, 
My  dear  Friend,  I  love  thee  still. 
It  were  treason  to  our  love, 
And  a  sin  to  God  above, 
One  iota  to  abate 
Of  a  pure,  impartial  hate. 

It  is  not  enough  that  we  are  truthful ;  we 
must  cherish  and  carry  out  high  purposes  to  be 
truthful  about. 

It  must  be  rare,  indeed,  that  we  meet  with 
one  to  whom  we  are  prepared  to  be  quite  ideally 
related,  as  she  to  us.  We  should  have  no  re 
serve  ;  we  should  give  the  whole  of  ourselves  to 
that  society ;  we  should  have  no  duty  aside  from 
that.  One  who  could  bear  to  be  so  wonderfully 
and  beautifully  exaggerated  every  day.  I  would 
take  my  friend  out  of  her  low  self  and  set  her 
higher,  infinitely  higher,  and  there  know  her. 
But,  commonly,  men  are  as  much  afraid  of  love 
as  of  hate.  They  have  lower  engagements. 
They  have  near  ends  to  serve.  They  have  not 
imagination  enough  to  be  thus  employed  about 
a  human  being,  but  must  be  coopering  a  barrel, 
forsooth. 

What  a  difference,  whether,  in  all  your  walks, 
you  meet  only  strangers,  or  in  one  house  is  one 
who  knows  you,  and  whom  you  know.  To  have 


XT.  35.]  TO  HARRISON'  BLAKE.  245 

a  brother  or  a  sister !  To  have  a  gold  mine  on 
your  farm !  To  find  diamonds  in  the  gravel 
heaps  before  your  door !  How  rare  these  things 
are  !  To  share  the  day  with  you,  —  to  people 
the  earth.  Whether  to  have  a  god  or  a  goddess 
for  companion  in  your  walks,  or  to  walk  alone 
with  hinds  and  villains  and  carles.  Would  not 
a  friend  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  as 
much  as  a  deer  or  hare  ?  Everything  would  ac 
knowledge  and  serve  such  a  relation ;  the  corn 
in  the  field,  and  the  cranberries  in  the  meadow. 
The  flowers  would  bloom,  and  the  birds  sing, 
with  a  new  impulse.  There  would  be  more  fair 
days  in  the  year. 

The  object  of  love  expands  and  grows  before 
us  to  eternity,  until  it  includes  all  that  is  lovely, 
and  we  become  all  that  can  love. 

CHASTITY  AND  SENSUALITY. 

The  subject  of  sex  is  a  remarkable  one,  since, 
though  its  phenomena  concern  us  so  much,  both 
directly  and  indirectly,  and,  sooner  or  later,  it 
occupies  the  thoughts  of  all,  yet  all  mankind,  as 
it  were,  agree  to  be  silent  about  it,  at  least  the 
sexes  commonly  one  to  another.  One  of  the 
most  interesting  of  all  human  facts  is  veiled 
more  completely  than  any  mystery.  It  is  treated 
with  such  secrecy  and  awe  as  surely  do  not  go 
to  any  religion.  I  believe  that  it  is  unusual  even 


246          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1852, 

for  the  most  intimate  friends  to  communicate 
the  pleasures  and  anxieties  connected  with  this 
fact,  —  much  as  the  external  affair  of  love,  its 
comings  and  goings,  are  bruited.  The  Shakers 
do  not  exaggerate  it  so  much  by  their  manner 
of  speaking  of  it,  as  all  mankind  by  their  man 
ner  of  keeping  silence  about  it.  Not  that  men 
should  speak  on  this  or  any  subject  without 
having  anything  worthy  to  say  ;  but  it  is  plain 
that  the  education  of  man  has  hardly  com 
menced,  —  there  is  so  little  genuine  intercom 
munication. 

In  a  pure  society,  the  subject  of  marriage 
would  not  be  so  often  avoided,  —  from  shame 
and  not  from  reverence,  winked  out  of  sight, 
and  hinted  at  only ;  but  treated  naturally  and 
simply, — perhaps  simply  avoided,  like  the  kin 
dred  mysteries.  If  it  cannot  be  spoken  of  for 
shame,  how  can  it  be  acted  of  ?  But,  doubtless, 
there  is  far  more  purity,  as  well  as  more  im 
purity,  than  is  apparent. 

Men  commonly  couple  with  their  idea  of  mar 
riage  a  slight  degree  at  least  of  sensuality ;  but 
every  lover,  the  world  over,  believes  in  its  incon 
ceivable  purity. 

If  it  is  the  result  of  a  pure  love,  there  can  be 
nothing  sensual  in  marriage.  Chastity  is  some 
thing  positive,  not  negative.  It  is  the  virtue  of 
the  married  especially.  All  lusts  or  base  pleas- 


mi.  35.]  THE   DEEDS   OF  LOVE.  247 

ures  must  give  place  to  loftier  delights.  They 
who  meet  as  superior  beings  cannot  perform  the 
deeds  of  inferior  ones.  The  deeds  of  love  are 
less  questionable  than  any  action  of  an  individ 
ual  can  be,  for,  it  being  founded  on  the  rarest 
mutual  respect,  the  parties  incessantly  stimulate 
each  other  to  a  loftier  and  purer  life,  and  the 
act  in  which  they  are  associated  must  be  pure 
and  noble  indeed,  for  innocence  and  purity  can 
have  no  equal.  In  this  relation  we  deal  with 
one  whom  we  respect  more  religiously  even  than 
we  respect  our  better  selves,  and  we  shall  neces 
sarily  conduct  as  in  the  presence  of  God.  What 
presence  can  be  more  awful  to  the  lover  than  the 
presence  of  his  beloved  ? 

If  you  seek  the  warmth  even  of  affection  from 
a  similar  motive  to  that  from  which  cats  and 
dogs  and  slothful  persons  hug  the  fire, — be 
cause  your  temperature  is  low  through  sloth,  — 
you  are  on  the  downward  road,  and  it  is  but  to 
plunge  yet  deeper  into  sloth.  Better  the  cold 
affection  of  the  sun,  reflected  from  fields  of  ice 
and  snow,  or  his  warmth  in  some  still,  wintry 
dell.  The  warmth  of  celestial  love  does  not 
relax,  but  nerves  and  braces  its  enjoyer.  Warm 
your  body  by  healthful  exercise,  not  by  cowering 
over  a  stove.  Warm  your  spirit  by  performing 
independently  noble  deeds,  not  by  ignobly  seek 
ing  the  sympathy  of  your  fellows  who  are  no 


248  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1852, 

better  than  yourself.  A  man's  social  and  spirit 
ual  discipline  must  answer  to  his  corporeal.  He 
must  lean  on  a  friend  who  has  a  hard  breast,  as 
he  would  lie  on  a  hard  bed.  He  must  drink  cold 
water  for  his  only  beverage.  So  he  must  not 
hear  sweetened  and  colored  words,  but  pure  and 
refreshing  truths.  He  must  daily  bathe  in  truth 
cold  as  spring  water,  not  warmed  by  the  sympa 
thy  of  friends.  ^ 

Can  love  be  in  aught  allied  to  dissipation? 
Let  us  love  by  refusing,  not  accepting  one  an 
other.  Love  and  lust  are  far  asunder.  The  one 
is  good,  the  other  bad.  When  the  affectionate 
sympathize  by  their  higher  natures,  there  is 
love ;  but  there  is  danger  that  they  will  sympa 
thize  by  their  lower  natures,  and  then  there  is 
lust.  It  is  not  necessary  that  this  be  deliberate, 
hardly  even  conscious ;  but,  in  the  close  contact 
of  affection,  there  is  danger  that  we  may  stain 
and  pollute  one  another ;  for  we  cannot  embrace 
but  with  an  entire  embrace. 

We  must  love  our  friend  so  much  that  she 
shall  be  associated  with  our  purest  and  holiest 
thoughts  alone.  When  there  is  impurity,  we 
have  "descended  to  meet,"  though  we  knew  it 
not. 

The  luxury  of  affection, — there 's  the  danger. 
There  must  be  some  nerve  and  heroism  in  our 
love,  as  of  a  winter  morning.  In  the  religion  of 


asr.35.]    VIRGINITY  AND  MARRIAGE.         249 

all  nations  a  purity  is  hinted  at,  which,  I  fear, 
men  never  attain  to.  We  may  love  and  not 
elevate  one  another.  The  love  that  takes  us  as 
it  finds  us  degrades  us.  What  watch  we  must 
keep  over  the  fairest  and  purest  of  our  affec 
tions,  lest  there  be  some  taint  about  them !  May 
we  so  love  as  never  to  have  occasion  to  repent 
of  our  love ! 

There  is  to  be  attributed  to  sensuality  the 
loss  to  language  of  how  many  pregnant  symbols  ! 
Flowers,  which,  by  their  infinite  hues  and  fra 
grance,  celebrate  the  marriage  of  the  plants,  are 
intended  for  a  symbol  of  the  open  and  unsus 
pected  beauty  of  all  true  marriage,  when  man's 
flowering  season  arrives. 

Virginity,  too,  is  a  budding  flower,  and  by  an 
impure  marriage  the  virgin  is  deflowered.  Who 
ever  loves  flowers,  loves  virgins  and  chastity. 
Love  and  lust  are  as  far  asunder  as  a  flower- 
garden  is  from  a  brothel. 

J.  Biberg,  in  the  "  Amoenitates  Botanies," 
edited  by  Linnaeus,  observes  (I  translate  from 
the  Latin)  :  "  The  organs  of  generation,  which, 
in  the  animal  kingdom,  are  for  the  most  part 
concealed  by  nature,  as  if  they  were  to  be 
ashamed  of,  in  the  vegetable  kingdom  are  ex 
posed  to  the  eyes  of  all ;  and,  when  the  nuptials 
of  plants  are  celebrated,  it  is  wonderful  what 
delight  they  afford  to  the  beholder,  refreshing 


250          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1852, 

the  senses  with  the  most  agreeable  color  and  the 
sweetest  odor ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  bees  and 
other  insects,  not  to  mention  the  humming-bird, 
extract  honey  from  their  nectaries,  and  gather 
wax  from  their  effete  pollen."  Linnaeus  himself 
calls  the  calyx  the  tlialamus,  or  bridal  chamber ; 
and  the  corolla  the  aulaeum,  or  tapestry  of  it, 
and  proceeds  to  explain  thus  every  part  of  the 
flower. 

Who  knows  but  evil  spirits  might  corrupt  the 
flowers  themselves,  rob  them  of  their  fragrance 
and  their  fair  hues,  and  turn  their  marriage  into 
a  secret  shame  and  defilement  ?  Already  they 
are  of  various  qualities,  and  there  is  one  whose 
nuptials  fill  the  lowlands  in  June  with  the  odor 
of  carrion. 

The  intercourse  of  the  sexes,  I  have  dreamed, 
is  incredibly  beautiful,  too  fair  to  be  remem 
bered.  I  have  had  thoughts  about  it,  but  they 
are  among  the  most  fleeting  and  irrecoverable  in 
my  experience.  It  is  strange  that  men  will  talk 
of  miracles,  revelation,  inspiration,  and  the  like, 
as  things  past,  while  love  remains. 

A  true  marriage  will  differ  in  no  wise  from 
illumination.  In  all  perception  of  the  truth 
there  is  a  divine  ecstasy,  an  inexpressible  delir 
ium  of  joy,  as  when  a  youth  embraces  his  be 
trothed  virgin.  The  ultimate  delights  of  a  true 
marriage  are  one  with  this. 


an:.  35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  251 

No  wonder  that,  out  of  such  a  union,  not  as 
end,  but  as  accompaniment,  comes  the  undying 
race  of  man.  The  womb  is  a  most  fertile  soil. 

Some  have  asked  if  the  stock  of  men  could 
not  be  improved,  —  if  they  could  not  be  bred  as 
cattle.  Let  Love  be  purified,  and  all  the  rest 
will  follow.  A  pure  love  is  thus,  indeed,  the 
panacea  for  all  the  ills  of  the  world. 

The  only  excuse  for  reproduction  is  improve 
ment.  Nature  abhors  repetition.  Beasts  merely 
propagate  their  kind ;  but  the  offspring  of  noble 
men  and  women  will  be  superior  to  themselves, 
as  their  aspirations  are.  By  their  fruits  ye  shall 
know  them. 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  February  27,  1853. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  not  answered  your  letter 
before,  because  I  have  been  almost  constantly  in 
the  fields  surveying  of  late.  It  is  long  since  I 
have  spent  many  days  so  profitably  in  a  pecuni 
ary  sense ;  so  unprofitably,  it  seems  to  me,  in 
a  more  important  sense.  I  have  earned  just  a 
dollar  a  day  for  seventy-six  days  past;  for, 
though  I  charge  at  a  higher  rate  for  the  days 
which  are  seen  to  be  spent,  yet  so  many  more 
are  spent  than  appears.  This  is  instead  of  lec 
turing,  which  has  not  offered,  to  pay  for  that 
book  which  I  printed.1  I  have  not  only  cheap 
i  The  Week. 


252  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1853, 

hours,  but  cheap  weeks  and  months ;  that  is, 
weeks  which  are  bought  at  the  rate  I  have 
named.  Not  that  they  are  quite  lost  to  me,  or 
make  me  very  melancholy,  alas !  for  I  too  often 
take  a  cheap  satisfaction  in  so  spending  them, 
—  weeks  of  pasturing  and  browsing,  like  beeves 
and  deer,  —  which  give  me  animal  health,  it 
may  be,  but  create  a  tough  skin  over  the  soul 
and  intellectual  part.  Yet,  if  men  should  offer 
my  body  a  maintenance  for  the  work  of  my 
head  alone,  I  feel  that  it  would  be  a  dangerous 
temptation. 

As  to  whether  what  you  speak  of  as  the 
"  world's  way  "  (which  for  the  most  part  is  my 
way),  or  that  which  is  shown  me,  is  the  better, 
the  former  is  imposture,  the  latter  is  truth.  I 
have  the  coldest  confidence  in  the  last.  There 
is  only  such  hesitation  as  the  appetites  feel  in 
following  the  aspirations.  The  clod  hesitates 
because  it  is  inert,  wants  animation.  The  one 
is  the  way  of  death,  the  other  of  life  everlasting. 
My  hours  are  not  "  cheap  in  such  a  way  that 
/  doubt  whether  the  world's  way  would  not 
have  been  better,"  but  cheap  in  such  a  way  that 
I  doubt  whether  the  world's  way,  which  I  have 
adopted  for  the  time,  could  be  worse.  The 
whole  enterprise  of  this  nation,  which  is  not  an 
upward,  but  a  westward  one,  toward  Oregon, 
California,  Japan,  etc.,  is  totally  devoid  of  inter- 


JET.  So.}  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  253 

est  to  me,  whether  performed  on  foot,  or  by  a 
Pacific  railroad.  It  is  not  illustrated  by  a 
thought ;  it  is  not  warmed  by  a  sentiment ; 
there  is  nothing  in  it  which  one  should  lay 
down  his  life  for.,  nor  even  his  gloves,  —  hardly 
which  one  should  take  up  a  newspaper  for.  It 
is  perfectly  heathenish,  —  a  filibustering  to 
ward  heaven  by  the  great  western  route.  No  ; 
they  may  go  their  way  to  their  manifest  destiny, 
which  I  trust  is  not  mine.  May  my  seventy- 
six  dollars,  whenever  I  get  them,  help  to  carry 
me  in  the  other  direction !  I  see  them  on  their 
winding  way,  but  no  music  is  wafted  from  their 
host,  —  only  the  rattling  of  change  in  their 
pockets.  I  would  rather  be  a  captive  knight, 
and  let  them  all  pass  by,  than  be  free  only  to 
go  whither  they  are  bound.  What  end  do  they 
propose  to  themselves  beyond  Japan  ?  What 
aims  more  lofty  have  they  than  the  prairie 
dogs? 

As  it  respects  these  things,  I  have  not  changed 
an  opinion  one  iota  from  the  first.  As  the  stars 
looked  to  me  when  I  was  a  shepherd  in  Assyria, 
they  look  to  me  now,  a  New-Englander.  The 
higher  the  mountain  on  which  you  stand,  the 
less  change  in  the  prospect  from  year  to  year, 
from  age  to  age.  Above  a  certain  height  there  is 
no  change.  I  am  a  Switzer  on  the  edge  of  the 
glacier,  with  his  advantages  and  disadvantages, 


254          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

goitre,  or  what  not.  (You  may  suspect  it  to  be 
some  kind  of  swelling  at  any  rate.)  I  have  had 
but  one  spiritual  birth  (excuse  the  word),  and 
now  whether  it  rains  or  snows,  whether  I  laugh 
or  cry,  fall  farther  below  or  approach  nearer  to 
my  standard  ;  whether  Pierce  or  Scott  is  elected, 
—  not  a  new  scintillation  of  light  flashes  on  me, 
but  ever  and  anon,  though  with  longer  intervals, 
the  same  surprising  and  everlastingly  new  light 
dawns  to  me,  with  only  such  variations  as  in  the 
coming  of  the  natural  day,  with  which,  indeed, 
it  is  often  coincident. 

As  to  how  to  preserve  potatoes  from  rotting, 
your  opinion  may  change  from  year  to  year  ; 
but  as  to  how  to  preserve  your  soul  from  rot 
ting,  I  have  nothing  to  learn,  but  something  to 
practice. 

Thus  I  declaim  against  them ;  but  I  in  my 
folly  am  the  world  I  condemn. 

I  very  rarely,  indeed,  if  ever,  "  feel  any  itch 
ing  to  be  what  is  called  useful  to  my  fellow-men." 
Sometimes  —  it  may  be  when  my  thoughts  for 
want  of  employment  fall  into  a  beaten  path  or 
humdrum  —  I  have  dreamed  idly  of  stopping  a 
man's  horse  that  was  running  away  ;  but,  per 
chance,  I  wished  that  he  might  run,  in  order 
that  I  might  stop  him  ;  —  or  of  putting  out  a 
fire ;  but  then,  of  course,  it  must  have  got  well 
a-going.  Now,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  dream 


jsT.35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  255 

much  of  acting  upon  horses  before  they  run,  or 
of  preventing  fires  which  are  not  yet  kindled. 
What  a  foul  subject  is  this  of  doing  good  !  in 
stead  of  minding  one's  life,  which  should  be  his 
business  ;  doing  good  as  a  dead  carcass,  which  is 
only  fit  for  manure,  instead  of  as  a  living  man,  — 
instead  of  taking  care  to  flourish,  and  smell  and 
taste  sweet,  and  refresh  all  mankind  to  the  extent 
of  our  capacity  and  quality.  People  will  some 
times  try  to  persuade  you  that  you  have  done 
something  from  that  motive,  as  if  you  did  not 
already  know  enough  about  it.  If  I  ever  did  a 
man  any  good,  in  their  sense,  of  course  it  was 
something  exceptional  and  insignificant  com 
pared  with  the  good  or  evil  which  I  am  con 
stantly  doing  by  being  what  I  am.  As  if  you 
were  to  preach  to  ice  to  shape  itself  into  burn 
ing-glasses,  which  are  sometimes  useful,  and  so 
the  peculiar  properties  of  ice  be  lost.  Ice  that 
merely  performs  the  office  of  a  burning-glass 
does  not  do  its  duty. 

The  problem  of  life  becomes,  one  cannot  say 
by  how  many  degrees,  more  complicated  as  our 
material  wealth  is  increased,  —  whether  that 
needle  they  tell  of  was  a  gateway  or  not,  —  since 
the  problem  is  not  merely  nor  mainly  to  get  life 
for  our  bodies,  but  by  this  or  a  similar  discipline 
to  get  life  for  our  souls  ;  by  cultivating  the  low 
land  farm  on  right  principles,  that  is,  with  this 


256  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1853, 

view,  to  turn  it  into  an  upland  farm.  You  have 
so  many  more  talents  to  account  for.  If  I  accom 
plish  as  much  more  in  spiritual  work  as  I  am 
richer  in  worldly  goods,  then  I  am  just  as  worthy, 
or  worth  just  as  much,  as  I  was  before,  and  no 
more.  I  see  that,  in  my  own  case,  money  might 
be  of  great  service  to  me,  but  probably  it  would 
not  be ;  for  the  difficulty  now  is,  that  I  do  not 
improve  my  opportunities,  and  therefore  I  am 
not  prepared  to  have  my  opportunities  increased. 
Now,  I  warn  you,  if  it  be  as  you  say,  you  have 
got  to  put  on  the  pack  of  an  upland  farmer  in 
good  earnest  the  coming  spring,  the  lowland 
farm  being  cared  for  ;  ay,  you  must  be  selecting 
your  seeds  forthwith,  and  doing  what  winter 
work  you  can ;  and,  while  others  are  raising 
potatoes  and  Baldwin  apples  for  you,  you  must 
be  raising  apples  of  the  Hesperides  for  them. 
(Only  hear  how  he  preaches !)  No  man  can 
suspect  that  he  is  the  proprietor  of  an  upland 
farm,  —  upland  in  the  sense  that  it  will  produce 
nobler  crops,  and  better  repay  cultivation  in  the 
long  run,  —  but  he  will  be  perfectly  sure  that 
he  ought  to  cultivate  it. 

Though  we  are  desirous  to  earn  our  bread,  we 
need  not  be  anxious  to  satisfy  men  for  it,  — 
though  we  shall  take  care  to  pay  them,  —  but 
God,  who  alone  gave  it  to  us.     Men  may  in 
effect  put  us  in  the  debtors'  jail  for  that  mat- 


JST.  35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  257 

ter,  simply  for  paying  our  whole  debt  to  God, 
which  includes  our  debt  to  them,  and  though  we 
have  His  receipt  for  it,  —  for  His  paper  is  dis 
honored.  The  cashier  will  tell  you  that  He  has 
no  stock  in  his  bank. 

How  prompt  we  are  to  satisfy  the  hunger  and 
thirst  of  our  bodies  ;  how  slow  to  satisfy  the 
hunger  and  thirst  of  our  souls !  Indeed,  we 
would-be-practical  folks  cannot  use  this  word 
without  blushing  because  of  our  infidelity,  hav 
ing  starved  this  substance  almost  to  a  shadow. 
We  feel  it  to  be  as  absurd  as  if  a  man  were  to 
break  forth  into  a  eulogy  on  his  dog,  who  has  n't 
any.  An  ordinary  man  will  work  every  day  for 
a  year  at  shoveling  dirt  to  support  his  body,  or 
a  family  of  bodies ;  but  he  is  an  extraordinary 
man  who  will  work  a  whole  day  in  a  year  for 
the  support  of  his  soul.  Even  the  priests,  the 
men  of  God,  so  called,  for  the  most  part  confess 
that  they  work  for  the  support  of  the  body. 
But  he  alone  is  the  truly  enterprising  and  prac 
tical  man  who  succeeds  in  maintaining  his  soul 
here.  Have  not  we  our  everlasting  life  to  get  ? 
and  is  not  that  the  only  excuse  at  last  for  eat 
ing,  drinking,  sleeping,  or  even  carrying  an 
umbrella  when  it  rains  ?  A  man  might  as  well 
devote  himself  to  raising  pork,  as  to  fattening 
the  bodies,  or  temporal  part  merely,  of  the 
whole  human  family.  If  we  made  the  true  dis- 


258          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

tinction  we  should  almost  all  of  us  be  seen  to  be 
in  the  almshouse  for  souls. 

I  am  much  indebted  to  you  because  you  look 
so  steadily  at  the  better  side,  or  rather  the  true 
centre  of  me  (for  our  true  centre  may,  and  per 
haps  oftenest  does,  lie  entirely  aside  from  us, 
and  we  are  in  fact  eccentric),  and,  as  I  have 
elsewhere  said,  "  give  me  an  opportunity  to  live." 
You  speak  as  if  the  image  or  idea  which  I  see 
were  reflected  from  me  to  you ;  and  I  see  it  again 
reflected  from  you  to  me,  because  we  stand  at 
the  right  angle  to  one  another ;  and  so  it  goes 
zigzag  to  what  successive  reflecting  surfaces,  be 
fore  it  is  all  dissipated  or  absorbed  by  the  more 
unreflecting,  or  differently  reflecting,  —  who 
knows?  Or,  perhaps,  what  you  see  directly, 
you  refer  to  me.  What  a  little  shelf  is  re 
quired,  by  which  we  may  impinge  upon  another, 
and  build  there  our  eyry  in  the  clouds,  and  all 
the  heavens  we  see  above  us  we  refer  to  the 
crags  around  and  beneath  us.  Some  piece  of 
mica,  as  it  were,  in  the  face  or  eyes  of  one,  as 
on  the  Delectable  Mountains,  slanted  at  the  right 
angle,  reflects  the  heavens  to  us.  But,  in  the 
slow  geological  upheavals  and  depressions,  these 
mutual  angles  are  disturbed,  these  suns  set,  and 
new  ones  rise  to  us.  That  ideal  which  I  wor 
shiped  was  a  greater  stranger  to  the  mica  than 
to  me.  It  was  not  the  hero  I  admired,  but  the 


J5T.35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  259 

reflection  from  his  epaulet  or  helmet.  It  is 
nothing  (for  us)  permanently  inherent  in  an 
other,  but  his  attitude  or  relation  to  what  we 
prize,  that  we  admire.  The  meanest  man  may 
glitter  with  micacious  particles  to  his  fellow's 
eye.  These  are  the  spangles  that  adorn  a  man. 
The  highest  union,  —  the  only  un-i<m  (don't 
laugh),  or  central  oneness,  is  the  coincidence  of 
visual  rays.  Our  club-room  was  an  apartment 
in  a  constellation  where  our  visual  rays  met 
(and  there  was  110  debate  about  the  restaurant). 
The  way  between  us  is  over  the  mount. 

Your  words  make  me  think  of  a  man  of  my 
acquaintance  whom  I  occasionally  meet,  whom 
you,  too,  appear  to  have  met,  one  Myself,  as  he 
is  called.  Yet,  why  not  call  him  JWrself  ? 
If  you  have  met  with  him  and  know  him,  it  is 
all  I  have  done  ;  and  surely,  where  there  is  a 
mutual  acquaintance,  the  my  and  thy  make  a 
distinction  without  a  difference. 

I  do  not  wonder  that  you  do  not  like  my 
Canada  story.  It  concerns  me  but  little,  and 
probably  is  not  worth  the  time  it  took  to  tell  it. 
Yet  I  had  absolutely  no  design  whatever  in  my 
mind,  but  simply  to  report  what  I  saw.  I  have 
inserted  all  of  myself  that  was  implicated,  or 
made  the  excursion.  It  has  come  to  an  end,  at 
any  rate ;  they  will  print  no  more,  but  return 
me  my  MS.  when  it  is  but  little  more  than  half 


260  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

done,  as  well  as  another  I  had  sent  them,  be 
cause  the  editor 1  requires  the  liberty  to  omit  the 
heresies  without  consulting  me,  —  a  privilege 
California  is  not  rich  enough  to  bid  for. 

I  thank  you  again  and  again  for  attending 
to  me  ;  that  is  to  say,  I  am  glad  that  you  hear 
me  and  that  you  also  are  glad.  Hold  fast  to 
your  most  indefinite,  waking  dream.  The  very 
green  dust  on  the  walls  is  an  organized  vege 
table  ;  the  atmosphere  has  its  fauna  and  flora 
floating  in  it ;  and  shall  we  think  that  dreams 
are  but  dust  and  ashes,  are  always  disintegrated 
and  crumbling  thoughts,  and  not  dust  -  like 
thoughts  trooping  to  their  standard  with  music, 
—  systems  beginning  to  be  organized  ?  These 
expectations,  —  these  are  roots,  these  are  nuts, 
which  even  the  poorest  man  has  in  his  bin,  and 
roasts  or  cracks  them  occasionally  in  winter 
evenings,  —  which  even  the  poor  debtor  retains 
with  his  bed  and  his  pig,  i.  e.,  his  idleness  and 
sensuality.  Men  go  to  the  opera  because  they 
hear  there  a  faint  expression  in  sound  of  this 
news  which  is  never  quite  distinctly  proclaimed. 
Suppose  a  man  were  to  sell  the  hue,  the  least 
amount  of  coloring  matter  in  the  superficies  of 
his  thought,  for  a  farm,  —  were  to  exchange  an 
absolute  and  infinite  value  for  a  relative  and 
finite  one,  —  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose 
his  own  soul ! 

1  Of  Putnam's  Magazine. 


JET.  35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  261 

Do  not  wait  as  long  as  I  have  before  you 
write.  If  you  will  look  at  another  star,  I  will 
try  to  supply  my  side  of  the  triangle. 

Tell  Mr.  Brown,  that  I  remember  him,  and 
trust  that  he  remembers  me. 

P.  S.  —  Excuse  this  rather  flippant  preaching, 
which  does  not  cost  me  enough ;  and  do  not 
think  that  I  mean  you  always,  though  your  let 
ter  requested  the  subjects. 

TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  April  10,  1853. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  Another  singular  kind  of 
spiritual  foot-ball,  —  really  nameless,  handle- 
less,  homeless,  like  myself,  —  a  mere  arena  for 
thoughts  and  feelings ;  definite  enough  out 
wardly,  indefinite  more  than  enough  inwardly. 
But  I  do  not  know  why  we  should  be  styled 
"  misters  "  or  "  masters  :  "  we  come  so  near  to 
being  anything  or  nothing,  and  seeing  that  we 
are  mastered,  and  not  wholly  sorry  to  be  mas 
tered,  by  the  least  phenomenon.  It  seems  to  me 
that  we  are  the  mere  creatures  of  thought,  — 
one  of  the  lowest  forms  of  intellectual  life,  we 
men,  —  as  the  sunfish  is  of  animal  life.  As  yet 
our  thoughts  have  acquired  no  definiteness  nor 
solidity ;  they  are  purely  molluscous,  not  verte 
brate  ;  and  the  height  of  our  existence  is  to  float 
upward  in  an  ocean  where  the  sun  shines,  —  ap- 


262          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

pearing  only  like  a  vast  soup  or  chowder  to  the 
eyes  of  the  immortal  navigators.  It  is  wonder 
ful  that  I  can  be  here,  and  you  there,  and  that 
we  can  correspond,  and  do  many  other  things, 
when,  in  fact,  there  is  so  little  of  us,  either  or 
both,  anywhere.  In  a  few  minutes,  I  expect, 
this  slight  film  or  dash  of  vapor  that  I  am  will 
be  what  is  called  asleep,  —  resting !  forsooth 
from  what?  Hard  work?  and  thought?  The 
hard  work  of  the  dandelion  down,  which  floats 
ovei  the  meadow  all  day ;  the  hard  work  of  a 
pismire  that  labors  to  raise  a  hillock  all  day, 
and  even  by  moonlight.  Suddenly  I  can  come 
forward  into  the  utmost  apparent  distinctness, 
and  speak  with  a  sort  of  emphasis  to  you  ;  and 
the  next  moment  I  am  so  faint  an  entity,  and 
make  so  slight  an  impression,  that  nobody  can 
find  the  traces  of  me.  I  try  to  hunt  myself 
up,  and  find  the  little  of  me  that  is  discoverable 
is  falling  asleep,  and  then  I  assist  and  tuck  it 
up.  It  is  getting  late.  How  can  /  starve  or 
feed  ?  Can  /  be  said  to  sleep  ?  There  is  not 
enough  of  me  even  for  that.  If  you  hear  a 
noise,  —  't  aint  I,  —  't  aint  I,  —  as  the  dog  says 
with  a  tin-kettle  tied  to  his  tail.  I  read  of  some 
thing  happening  to  another  the  other  day  :  how 
happens  it  that  nothing  ever  happens  to  me  ? 
A  dandelion  down  that  never  alights,  —  set 
tles,  —  blown  off  by  a  boy  to  see  if  his  mother 


mi.  35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  263 

wanted  him,  —  some  divine  boy  in  the  upper 
pastures. 

Well,  if  there  really  is  another  such  a  meteor 
sojourning  in  these  spaces,  I  would  like  to  ask 
you  if  you  know  whose  estate  this  is  that  we  are 
on  ?  For  my  part  I  enjoy  it  well  enough,  what 
with  the  wild  apples  and  the  scenery ;  but  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  the  owner  set  his  dog  on 
me  next.  I  could  remember  something  not 
much  to  the  purpose,  probably ;  but  if  I  stick 
to  what  I  do  know,  then  — 

It  is  worth  the  while  to  live  respectably  unto 
ourselves.  We  can  possibly  get  along  with  a 
neighbor,  even  with  a  bedfellow,  whom  we  re 
spect  but  very  little  ;  but  as  soon  as  it  comes  to 
this,  that  we  do  not  respect  ourselves,  then  we 
do  not  get  along  at  all,  no  matter  how  much 
money  we  are  paid  for  halting.  There  are  old 
heads  in  the  world  who  cannot  help  me  by  their 
example  or  advice  to  live  worthily  and  satisfac 
torily  to  myself ;  but  I  believe  that  it  is  in  my 
power  to  elevate  myself  this  very  hour  above 
the  common  level  of  my  life.  It  is  better  to 
have  your  head  in  the  clouds,  and  know  where 
you  are,  if  indeed  you  cannot  get  it  above  them, 
than  to  breathe  the  clearer  atmosphere  below 
them,  and  think  that  you  are  in  paradise. 

Once  you  were  in  Milton  J  doubting  what  to 

1  A  town  near  Boston. 


264          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1853, 

do.  To  live  a  better  life,  —  this  surely  can  be 
done.  Dot  and  carry  one.  Wait  not  for  a  clear 
sight,  for  that  you  are  to  get.  What  you  see 
clearly  you  may  omit  to  do.  Milton  and  Worces 
ter?  It  is  all  Blake,  Blake.  Never  mind  the 
rats  in  the  wall :  the  cat  will  take  care  of  them. 
All  that  men  have  said  or  are  is  a  very  faint 
rumor,  and  it  is  not  worth  the  while  to  remem 
ber  or  refer  to  that.  If  you  are  to  meet  God, 
will  you  refer  to  anybody  out  of  that  court? 
How  shall  men  know  how  I  succeed,  unless  they 
are  in  at  the  life  ?  I  did  not  see  the  "  Times  " 
reporter  there. 

Is  it  not  delightful  to  provide  one's  self  with 
the  necessaries  of  life,  —  to  collect  dry  wood  for 
the  fire  when  the  weather  grows  cool,  or  fruits 
when  we  grow  hungry  ?  —  not  till  then.  And 
then  we  have  all  the  time  left  for  thought ! 

Of  what  use  were  it,  pray,  to  get  a  little  wood 
to  burn,  to  warm  your  body  this  cold  weather,  if 
there  were  not  a  divine  fire  kindled  at  the  same 
time  to  warm  your  spirit  ? 

"  Unless  above  himself  he  can 
Erect  himself,  how  poor  a  thing1  is  man !  " 

I  cuddle  up  by  my  stove,  and  there  I  get  up 
another  fire  which  warms  fire  itself.  Life  is  so 
short  that  it  is  not  wise  to  take  roundabout  ways, 
nor  can  we  spend  much  time  in  waiting.  Is  it 
absolutely  necessary,  then,  that  we  should  do  as 


JST.35.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  265 

we  are  doing  ?  Are  we  chiefly  under  obligations 
to  the  devil,  like  Tom  Walker?  Though  it  is 
late  to  leave  off  this  wrong  way,  it  will  seem 
early  the  moment  we  begin  in  the  right  way; 
instead  of  mid-afternoon,  it  will  be  early  morn 
ing  with  us.  We  have  not  got  half  way  to  dawn 
yet. 

As  for  the  lectures,  I  feel  that  I  have  some 
thing  to  say,  especially  on  Traveling,  Vague 
ness,  and  Poverty  ;  but  I  cannot  come  now.  I 
will  wait  till  I  am  fuller,  and  have  fewer  engage 
ments.  Your  suggestions  will  help  me  much 
to  write  them  when  I  am  ready.  I  am  going  to 
Haverhill 1  to-morrow,  surveying,  for  a  week  or 
more.  You  met  me  on  my  last  errand  thither. 

I  trust  that  you  realize  what  an  exaggerater  I 
am,  —  that  I  lay  myself  out  to  exaggerate  when 
ever  I  have  an  opportunity,  —  pile  Pelion  upon 
Ossa,  to  reach  heaven  so.  Expect  no  trivial 
truth  from  me,  unless  I  am  on  the  witness-stand. 
I  will  come  as  near  to  lying  as  you  can  drive  a 
coach-and-four.  If  it  is  n't  thus  and  so  with  me, 
it  is  with  something.  I  am  not  particular  whether 
I  get  the  shells  or  meat,  in  view  of  the  latter's 
worth. 

I  see  that  I  have  not  at  all  answered  your  let 
ter,  but  there  is  time  enough  for  that. 

1  A  Massachusetts  town,  the  birthplace  of  Whittier. 


266          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1853, 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  December  19,  1853. 

ME.  BLAKE,  —  My  debt  has  accumulated  so 
that  I  should  have  answered  your  last  letter  at 
once,  if  I  had  not  been  the  subject  of  what  is 
called  a  press  of  engagements,  having  a  lecture 
to  write  for  last  Wednesday,  and  surveying 
more  than  usual  besides.  It  has  been  a  kind  of 
running  fight  with  me,  —  the  enemy  not  always 
behind  me,  I  trust. 

True,  a  man  cannot  lift  himself  by  his  own 
waistbands,  because  he  cannot  get  out  of  him 
self  ;  but  he  can  expand  himself  (which  is  bet 
ter,  there  being  no  up  nor  down  in  nature),  and 
so  split  his  waistbands,  being  already  within 
himself. 

You  speak  of  doing  and  being,  and  the  van 
ity,  real  or  apparent,  of  much  doing.  The  suck 
ers —  I  think  it  is  they  —  make  nests  in  our 
river  in  the  spring  of  more  than  a  cart-load  of 
small  stones,  amid  which  to  deposit  their  ova. 
The  other  day  I  opened  a  muskrat's  house.  It 
was  made  of  weeds,  five  feet  broad  at  base,  and 
three  feet  high,  and  far  and  low  within  it  was  a 
little  cavity,  only  a  foot  in  diameter,  where  the 
rat  dwelt.  It  may  seem  trivial,  this  piling  up 
of  weeds,  but  so  the  race  of  muskrats  is  pre 
served.  We  must  heap  up  a  great  pile  of  doing, 


^T.  36.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  267 

for  a  small  diameter  of  being.  Is  it  not  imper 
ative  on  us  that  we  do  something,  if  we  only 
work  in  a  treadmill?  And,  indeed,  some  sort 
of  revolving  is  necessary  to  produce  a  centre 
and  nucleus  of  being.  What  exercise  is  to  the 
body,  employment  is  to  the  mind  and  morals. 
Consider  what  an  amount  of  drudgery  must  be 
performed,  —  how  much  humdrum  and  prosaic 
labor  goes  to  any  work  of  the  least  value.  There 
are  so  many  layers  of  mere  white  lime  in  every 
shell  to  that  thin  inner  one  so  beautifully  tinted. 
Let  not  the  shell-fish  think  to  build  his  house  of 
that  alone  ;  and  pray,  what  are  its  tints  to  him  ? 
Is  it  not  his  smooth,  close-fitting  shirt  merely, 
whose  tints  are  not  to  him,  being  in  the  dark, 
but  only  when  he  is  gone  or  dead,  and  his  shell 
is  heaved  up  to  light,  a  wreck  upon  the  beach, 
do  they  appear.  With  him,  too,  it  is  a  Song  of 
the  Shirt,  "  Work,  —  work,  —  work ! '"  And  the 
work  is  not  merely  a  police  in  the  gross  sense, 
but  in  the  higher  sense  a  discipline.  If  it  is 
surely  the  means  to  the  highest  end  we  know, 
can  any  work  be  humble  or  disgusting?  Will  it 
not  rather  be  elevating  as  a  ladder,  the  means 
by  which  we  are  translated  ? 

How  admirably  the  artist  is  made  to  accom 
plish  his  self -culture  by  devotion  to  his  art !  The 
wood-sawyer,  through  his  effort  to  do  his  work 
well,  becomes  not  merely  a  better  wood-sawyer, 


268          FRIENDS  AND   FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

but  measurably  a  better  man.  Few  are  the  men 
that  can  work  011  their  navels,—  only  some  Brah 
mins  that  I  have  heard  of.  To  the  painter  is 
given  some  paint  and  canvas  instead ;  to  the 
Irishman  a  hog,  typical  of  himself.  In  a  thou 
sand  apparently  humble  ways  men  busy  them 
selves  to  make  some  right  take  the  place  of  some 
wrong,  —  if  it  is  only  to  make  a  better  paste- 
blacking,  —  and  they  are  themselves  so  much 
the  better  morally  for  it. 

You  say  that  you  do  not  succeed  much.  Does 
it  concern  you  enough  that  you  do  not  ?  Do  you 
work  hard  enough  at  it  ?  Do  you  get  the  benefit 
of  discipline  out  of  it?  If  so,  persevere.  Is  it 
a  more  serious  thing  than  to  walk  a  thousand 
miles  in  a  thousand  successive  hours  ?  Do  you 
get  any  corns  by  it?  Do  you  ever  think  of  hang 
ing  yourself  on  account  of  failure  ? 

If  you  are  going  into  that  line,  —  going  to 
besiege  the  city  of  God,  —  you  must  not  only  be 
strong  in  engines,  but  prepared  with  provisions 
to  starve  out  the  garrison.  An  Irishman  came 
to  see  me  to-day,  who  is  endeavoring  to  get  his 
family  out  to  this  New  World.  He  rises  at  half 
past  four,,  milks  twenty-eight  cows  (which  has 
swollen  the  joints  of  his  fingers),  and  eats  his 
breakfast,  without  any  milk  in  his  tea  or  coffee, 
before  six ;  and  so  on,  day  after  day,  for  six  and 
a  half  dollars  a  month ;  and  thus  he  keeps  his 


JET.  36.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  269 

virtue  in  him,  if  he  does  not  add  to  it ;  and  he 
regards  me  as  a  gentleman  able  to  assist  him ; 
but  if  I  ever  get  to  be  a  gentleman,  it  will  be  by 
working  after  my  fashion  harder  than  he  does. 
If  my  joints  are  not  swollen,  it  must  be  because 
I  deal  with  the  teats  of  celestial  cows  before 
breakfast  (and  the  milker  in  this  case  is  always 
allowed  some  of  the  milk  for  his  breakfast),  to 
say  nothing  of  the  flocks  and  herds  of  Admetus 
afterward. 

It  is  the  art  of  mankind  to  polish  the  world, 
and  every  one  who  works  is  scrubbing  in  some 
part. 

If  the  work  is  high  and  far, 

You  must  not  only  aim  aright, 

But  draw  the  bow  with  all  your  might. 

You  must  qualify  yourself  to  use  a  bow  which 
no  humbler  archer  can  bend. 

"  Work,  —  work,  —  work !  ' ' 

Who  shall  know  it  for  a  bow?  It  is  not  of  yew- 
tree.  It  is  straighter  than  a  ray  of  light ;  flexi 
bility  is  not  known  for  one  of  its  qualities. 

December  22. 

So  far  I  had  got  when  I  was  called  off  to  sur 
vey.  Pray  read  the  life  of  Haydon  the  painter, 
if  you  have  not.  It  is  a  small  revelation  for 
these  latter  days  ;  a  great  satisfaction  to  know 
that  he  has  lived,  though  he  is  now  dead.  Have 


270          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

you  met  with  the  letter  of  a  Turkish  cadi  at  the 
end  of  Layard's  "  Ancient  Babylon  "  ?  that  also 
is  refreshing,  and  a  capital  comment  on  the 
whole  book  which  precedes  it,  —  the  Oriental 
genius  speaking  through  him. 

Those  Brahmins  "  put  it  through."  They  come 
off,  or  rather  stand  still,  conquerors,  with  some 
withered  arms  or  legs  at  least  to  show ;  and 
they  are  said  to  have  cultivated  the  faculty  of 
abstraction  to  a  degree  unknown  to  Europeans. 
If  we  cannot  sing  of  faith  and  triumph,  we  will 
sing  our  despair.  We  will  be  that  kind  of  bird. 
There  are  day  owls,  and  there  are  night  owls, 
and  each  is  beautiful  and  even  musical  while 
about  its  business. 

Might  you  not  find  some  positive  work  to  do 
with  your  back  to  Church  and  State,  letting 
your  back  do  all  the  rejection  of  them?  Can 
you  not  go  upon  your  pilgrimage,  Peter,  along 
the  winding  mountain  path  whither  you  face? 
A  step  more  will  make  those  funereal  church 
bells  over  your  shoulder  sound  far  and  sweet  as 
a  natural  sound. 

"  Work,  —  work,  —  work !  " 

Why  not  make  a  very  large  mud-pie  and  bake 
it  in  the  sun  !  Only  put  no  Church  nor  State 
into  it,  nor  upset  any  other  pepper-box  that 
way.  Dig  out  a  woodchuck,  —  for  that  has  no 
thing  to  do  with  rotting  institutions.  Go  ahead. 


XT.  36.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  271 

Whether  a  man  spends  his  day  in  an  ecstasy 
or  despondency,  he  must  do  some  work  to  show 
for  it,  even  as  there  are  flesh  and  bones  to  show 
for  him.  We  are  superior  to  the  joy  we  ex 
perience. 

Your  last  two  letters,  methinks,  have  more 
nerve  and  will  in  them  than  usual,  as  if  you  had 
erected  yourself  more.  Why  are  not  they  good 
work,  if  you  only  had  a  hundred  correspondents 
to  tax  you  ? 

Make  your  failure  tragical  by  the  earnestness 
and  steadfastness  of  your  endeavor,  and  then  it 
will  not  differ  from  success.  Prove  it  to  be  the 
inevitable  fate  of  mortals,  —  of  one  mortal,  —  if 
you  can. 

You  said  that  you  were  writing  on  Immor 
tality.  I  wish  you  would  communicate  to  me 
what  you  know  about  that.  You  are  sure  to 
live  while  that  is  your  theme. 

Thus  I  write  on  some  text  which  a  sentence 
of  your  letters  may  have  furnished. 

I  think  of  coming  to  see  you  as  soon  as  I  get 
a  new  coat,  if  I  have  money  enough  left.  I  will 
write  to  you  again  about  it. 

TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  January  21,  1854. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  My  coat  is  at  last  done,  and 
my  mother  and  sister  allow  that  I  am  so  far  in 


272  FRIENDS  AJ^D   FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

a  condition  to  go  abroad.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
gone  abroad  the  moment  I  put  it  on.  It  is,  as 
usual,  a  production  strange  to  me,  the  wearer,  — 
invented  by  some  Count  D'Orsay ;  and  the  ma 
ker  of  it  was  not  acquainted  with  any  of  my  real 
depressions  or  elevations.  He  only  measured 
a  peg  to  hang  it  on,  and  might  have  made  the 
loop  big  enough  to  go  over  my  head.  It  requires 
a  not  quite  innocent  indifference,  not  to  say  in 
solence,  to  wear  it.  Ah !  the  process  by  which 
we  get  our  coats  is  not  what  it  should  be. 
Though  the  Church  declares  it  righteous,  and 
its  priest  pardons  me,  my  own  good  genius  tells 
me  that  it  is  hasty,  and  coarse,  and  false.  I 
expect  a  time  when,  or  rather  an  integrity  by 
which,  a  man  will  get  his  coat  as  honestly  and 
as  perfectly  fitting  as  a  tree  its  bark.  Now  our 
garments  are  typical  of  our  conformity  to  the 
ways  of  the  world,  i.  e.,  of  the  devil,  and  to 
some  extent  react  on  us  and  poison  us,  like  that 
shirt  which  Hercules  put  on. 

I  think  to  come  and  see  you  next  week,  on 
Monday,  if  nothing  hinders.  I  have  just  re 
turned  from  court  at  Cambridge,  whither  I  was 
called  as  a  witness,  having  surveyed  a  water- 
privilege,  about  which  there  is  a  dispute,  since 
you  were  here. 

Ah !  what  foreign  countries  there  are,  greater 
in  extent  than  the  United  States  or  Russia,  and 


JET.  '36.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  273 

with  no  more  souls  to  a  square  mile,  stretching 
away  on  every  side  from  every  human  being 
with  whom  you  have  no  sympathy.  Their  hu 
manity  affects  me  as  simply  monstrous.  Rocks, 
earth,  brute  beasts,  comparatively  are  not  so 
strange  to  me.  When  I  sit  in  the  parlors  and 
kitchens  of  some  with  whom  my  business  brings 
me  —  I  was  going  to  say  in  contact  —  (business, 
like  misery,  makes  strange  bedfellows),  I  feel  a 
sort  of  awe,  and  as  forlorn  as  if  I  were  cast 
away  on  a  desolate  shore.  I  think  of  Riley's 
Narrative x  and  his  sufferings.  You,  who  soared 
like  a  merlin  with  your  mate  through  the  realms 
of  aether,  in  the  presence  of  the  unlike,  drop  at 
once  to  earth,  a  mere  amorphous  squab,  divested 
of  your  air-inflated  pinions.  (By  the  way,  ex 
cuse  this  writing,  for  I  am  using  the  stub  of  the 
last  feather  I  chance  to  possess.)  You  travel  on, 
however,  through  this  dark  and  desert  world; 
you  see  in  the  distance  an  intelligent  and  sym 
pathizing  lineament ;  stars  come  forth  in  the 
dark,  and  oases  appear  in  the  desert. 

But  (to  return  to  the  subject  of  coats),  we 
are  wellnigh  smothered  under  yet  more  fatal 
coats,  which  do  not  fit  us,  our  whole  lives  long. 
Consider  the  cloak  that  our  employment  or  sta 
tion  is  ;  how  rarely  men  treat  each  other  for 

1  An  American  seaman,  wrecked  on  the  coast  of  Arabia,  — 
once  a  popular  book. 


274          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1853, 

what  in  their  true  and  naked  characters  they 
are  ;  how  we  use  and  tolerate  pretension  ;  how 
the  judge  is  clothed  with  dignity  which  does  not 
belong  to  him,  and  the  trembling  witness  with 
humility  that  does  not  belong  to  him,  and  the 
criminal,  perchance,  with  shame  or  impudence 
which  no  more  belong  to  him.  It  does  not  mat 
ter  so  much,  then,  what  is  the  fashion  of  the 
cloak  with  which  we  cloak  these  cloaks.  Change 
the  coat ;  put  the  judge  in  the  criminal-box,  and 
the  criminal  on  the  bench,  and  you  might  think 
that  you  had  changed  the  men. 

No  doubt  the  thinnest  of  all  cloaks  is  con 
scious  deception  or  lies;  it  is  sleazy  and  frays 
out ;  it  is  not  close-woven  like  cloth ;  but  its 
meshes  are  a  coarse  network.  A  man  can  afford 
to  lie  only  at  the  intersection  of  the  threads  ; 
but  truth  puts  in  the  filling,  and  makes  a  consis 
tent  stuff. 

I  mean  merely  to  suggest  how  much  the  sta 
tion  affects  the  demeanor  and  self-respectability 
of  the  parties,  and  that  the  difference  between 
the  judge's  coat  of  cloth  and  the  criminal's  is 
insignificant  compared  with,  or  only  partially 
significant  of,  the  difference  between  the  coats 
which  their  respective  stations  permit  them  to 
wear.  What  airs  the  judge  may  put  on  over 
his  coat  which  the  criminal  may  not !  The 
judge's  opinion  {sententia)  of  the  criminal  sen- 


TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  275 

fences  him,  and  is  read  by  the  clerk  of  the 
court,  and  published  to  the  world,  and  executed 
by  the  sheriff ;  but  the  criminal's  opinion  of  the 
judge  has  the  weight  of  a  sentence,  and  is  pub 
lished  and  executed  only  in  the  supreme  court 
of  the  universe,  —  a  court  not  of  common  pleas. 
How  much  juster  is  the  one  than  the  other? 
Men  are  continually  sentencing  each  other ;  but, 
whether  we  be  judges  or  criminals,  the  sentence 
is  ineffectual  unless  we  continue  ourselves. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  I  do  not  always  limit 
your  vision  when  you  look  this  way  ;  that  you 
sometimes  see  the  light  through  me  ;  that  I  am 
here  and  there  windows,  and  not  all  dead  wall. 
Might  not  the  community  sometimes  petition  a 
man  to  remove  himself  as  a  nuisance,  a  dark- 
ener  of  the  day,  a  too  large  mote  ? 

TO    HARRISOX    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  August  $,  1854. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  Methinks  I  have  spent  a  rather 
unprofitable  summer  thus  far.  I  have  been  too 
much  with  the  world,  as  the  poet  might  say.1 
The  completest  performance  of  the  highest  du 
ties  it  imposes  would  yield  me  but  little  satis 
faction.  Better  the  neglect  of  all  such,  because 
your  life  passed  on  a  level  where  it  was  impossi 
ble  to  recognize  them.  Latterly,  I  have  heard 

1  "  The  world  is  too  much  with  us."  — Wordsworth. 


276  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

the  very  flies  buzz  too  distinctly,  and  have  ac 
cused  myself  because  I  did  not  still  this  super 
ficial  din.  We  must  not  be  too  easily  distracted 
by  the  crying  of  children  or  of  dynasties.  The 
Irishman  erects  his  sty,  and  gets  drunk,  and 
jabbers  more  and  more  under  my  eaves,  and  I 
am  responsible  for  all  that  filth  and  folly.  I 
find  it,  as  ever,  very  unprofitable  to  have  much 
to  do  with  men.  It  is  sowing  the  wind,  but  not 
reaping  even  the  whirlwind ;  only  reaping  an 
unprofitable  calm  and  stagnation.  Our  conver 
sation  is  a  smooth,  and  civil,  and  never-ending 
speculation  merely.  I  take  up  the  thread  of  it 
again  in  the  morning,  with  very  much  such  cour 
age  as  the  invalid  takes  his  prescribed  Seidlitz 
powders.  Shall  I  help  you  to  some  of  the  mack 
erel?  It  would  be  more  respectable  if  men,  as 
has  been  said  before,  instead  of  being  such  pigmy 
desperates,  were  Giant  Despairs.  Emerson  says 
that  his  life  is  so  unprofitable  and  shabby  for 
the  most  part,  that  he  is  driven  to  all  sorts  of 
resources,  and,  among  the  rest,  to  men.  I  tell 
him  that  we  differ  only  in  our  resources.  Mine 
is  to  get  away  from  men.  They  very  rarely 
affect  me  as  grand  or  beautiful ;  but  I  know 
that  there  is  a  sunrise  and  a  sunset  every  day. 
In  the  summer,  this  world  is  a  mere  watering- 
place,  —  a  Saratoga,  —  drinking  so  many  tum 
blers  of  Congress  water ;  and  in  the  winter,  is  it 


JET.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  277 

any  better,  with  its  oratorios  ?  I  have  seen  more 
men  than  usual,  lately ;  and,  well  as  I  was  ac 
quainted  with  one,  I  am  surprised  to  find  what 
vulgar  fellows  they  are.  They  do  a  little  busi 
ness  commonly  each  day,  in  order  to  pay  their 
board,  and  then  they  congregate  in  sitting-rooms 
and  feebly  tabulate  and  paddle  in  the  social 
slush ;  and  when  I  think  that  they  have  suffi 
ciently  relaxed,  and  am  prepared  to  see  them 
steal  away  to  their  shrines,  they  go  unashamed 
to  their  beds,  and  take  011  a  new  layer  of  sloth. 
They  may  be  single,  or  have  families  in  their 
faineancy.  I  do  not  meet  men  who  can  have 
nothing  to  do  with  me  because  they  have  so 
much  to  do  with  themselves.  However,  I  trust 
that  a  very  few  cherish  purposes  which  they  never 
declare.  Only  think,  for  a  moment,  of  a  man 
about  his  affairs  !  How  we  should  respect  him  ! 
How  glorious  he  would  appear!  Not  working 
for  any  corporation,  its  agent,  or  president,  but 
fulfilling  the  end  of  his  being !  A  man  about 
his  business  would  be  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

The  other  evening  I  was  determined  that  I 
would  silence  this  shallow  din  ;  that  I  would 
walk  in  various  directions  and  see  if  there  was 
not  to  be  found  any  depth  of  silence  around. 
As  Bonaparte  sent  out  his  horsemen  in  the  Red 
Sea  on  all  sides  to  find  shallow  water,  so  I  sent 
forth  my  mounted  thoughts  to  find  deep  water. 


278          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

I  left  the  village  and  paddled  up  the  river  to 
Fair  Haven  Pond.  As  the  sun  went  down,  I 
saw  a  solitary  boatman  disporting  on  the  smooth 
lake.  The  falling  dews  seemed  to  strain  and 
purify  the  air,  and  I  was  soothed  with  an  infi 
nite  stillness.  I  got  the  world,  as  it  were,  by 
the  nape  of  the  neck,  and  held  it  under  in  the 
tide  of  its  own  events,  till  it  was  drowned,  and 
then  I  let  it  go  down  stream  like  a  dead  dog. 
Vast  hollow  chambers  of  silence  stretched  away 
on  every  side,  and  my  being  expanded  in  pro 
portion,  and  filled  them.  Then  first  could  I 
appreciate  sound,  and  find  it  musical.1 

But  now  for  your  news.     Tell  us  of  the  year. 

1  A  lady  who  made  such  a  night  voyage  with  Thoreau,  years 
before,  says :  "  How  wise  he  was  to  ask  the  elderly  lady  with 
a  younger  one  for  a  row  on  the  Concord  River  one  moonlit 
night !  The  river  that  night  was  as  deep  as  the  heavens  above  ; 
serene  stars  shone  from  its  depths,  as  far  off  as  the  stars 
above.  Deep  answered  unto  deep  in  our  souls,  as  the  boat 
glided  swiftly  along,  past  low-lying  fields,  under  overhanging 
trees.  A  neighbor's  cow  waded  into  the  cool  water,  —  she 
became  at  once  a  Behemoth,  a  river-horse,  hippopotamus,  or 
river-god.  A  dog  barked,  —  he  was  Diana's  hound,  he  waked 
Endymion.  Suddenly  we  were  landed  on  a  little  isle  ;  our 
boatman,  our  boat  glided  far  off  in  the  flood.  We  were  left 
alone,  in  the  power  of  the  river-god ;  like  two  white  birds  we 
stood  on  this  bit  of  ground,  the  river  flowing  about  us  ;  only 
the  eternal  powers  of  nature  around  us.  Time  for  a  prayer, 
perchance,  —  and  back  came  the  boat  and  oarsman ;  we  were 
ferried  to  our  homes,  —  no  question  asked  or  answered.  We 
had  drank  of  the  cup  of  the  night,  —  had  felt  the  silence  and 
the  stars." 


MT.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  279 

Have  you  fought  the  good  fight  ?  What  is  the 
state  of  your  crops  ?  Will  your  harvest  answer 
well  to  the  seed-time,  and  are  you  cheered  by  the 
prospect  of  stretching  cornfields  ?  Is  there  any 
blight  on  your  fields,  any  murrain  in  your  herds  ? 
Have  you  tried  the  size  and  quality  of  your  po 
tatoes  ?  It  does  one  good  to  see  their  balls 
dangling  in  the  lowlands.  Have  you  got  your 
meadow  hay  before  the  fall  rains  shall  have  set 
in  ?  Is  there  enough  in  your  barns  to  keep  your 
cattle  over  ?  Are  you  killing  weeds  nowadays  ? 
or  have  you  earned  leisure  to  go  a-fishing  ?  Did 
you  plant  any  Giant  Regrets  last  spring,  such 
as  I  saw  advertised  ?  It  is  not  a  new  species, 
but  the  result  of  cultivation  and  a  fertile  soil. 
They  are  excellent  for  sauce.  How  is  it  with 
your  marrow  squashes  for  winter  use  ?  Is  there 
likely  to  be  a  sufficiency  of  fall  feed  in  your 
neighborhood  ?  What  is  the  state  of  the  springs  ? 
I  read  that  in  your  county  there  is  more  water 
on  the  hills  than  in  the  valleys.  Do  you  find  it 
easy  to  get  all  the  help  you  require?  Work 
early  and  late,  and  let  your  men  and  teams  rest 
at  noon.  Be  careful  not  to  drink  too  much 
sweetened  water,  while  at  your  hoeing,  this  hot 
weather.  You  can  bear  the  heat  much  better 
for  it. 


280          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1854, 

TO   MARSTON   WATSON    (AT   PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  September  19,  1854. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  from  you  and 
the  Plymouth  men  again.  The  world  still  holds 
together  between  Concord  and  Plymouth,  it 
seems.  I  should  like  to  be  with  you  while  Mr. 
Alcott  is  there,  but  I  cannot  come  next  Sunday. 
I  will  come  Sunday  after  next,  that  is,  October 
1st,  if  that  will  do ;  and  look  out  for  you  at  the 
depot.  I  do  not  like  to  promise  more  than  one 
discourse.  Is  there  a  good  precedent  for  two  ? 

The  first  of  Thoreau's  many  lecturing  visits  to 
Worcester,  the  home  of  his  friend,  Blake,  was 
in  April,  1849,  and  from  that  time  onward  he 
must  have  read  lectures  there  at  least  annually, 
until  his  last  iUness,  in  1861-62.  By  1854,  the 
lecturing  habit,  in  several  places  besides  Con 
cord,  had  become  established ;  and  there  was  a 
constant  interchange  of  visits  and  excursions 
with  his  friends  at  Worcester,  Plymouth,  New 
Bedford,  etc.  Soon  after  the  publication  of 
"Walden,"  in  the  summer  of  1854,  Thoreau 
wrote  these  notes  to  Mr.  Blake,  touching  on  va 
rious  matters  of  friendly  interest. 


2ET.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  281 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCOKD,  September  21,  1854. 

BLAKE,  —  I  have  just  read  your  letter,  but 
do  not  mean  now  to  answer  it,  solely  for  want 
of  time  to  say  what  I  wish.  I  directed  a  copy 
of  "  Walden  "  to  you  at  Ticknor's,  on  the  day  of 
its  publication,  and  it  should  have  reached  you 
before.  I  am  encouraged  to  know  that  it  inter 
ests  you  as  it  now  stands,  —  a  printed  book,  — 
for  you  apply  a  very  severe  test  to  it,  —  you 
make  the  highest  demand  on  me.  As  for  the 
excursion  you  speak  of,  I  should  like  it  right 
well,  —  indeed  I  thought  of  proposing  the  same 
thing  to  you  and  Brown,  some  months  ago.  Per 
haps  it  would  have  been  better  if  I  had  done  so 
then ;  for  in  that  case  I  should  have  been  able 
to  enter  into  it  with  that  infinite  margin  to  my 
views,  —  spotless  of  all  engagements,  —  which  I 
think  so  necessary.  As  it  is,  I  have  agreed  to  go 
a-lecturing  to  Plymouth,  Sunday  after  next  (Oc 
tober  1)  and  to  Philadelphia  in  November,  and 
thereafter  to  the  West,  if  they  shall  ^uant  me  ; 
and,  as  I  have  prepared  nothing  in  that  shape,  I 
feel  as  if  my  hours  were  spoken  for.  However, 
I  think  that,  after  having  been  to  Plymouth,  I 
may  take  a  day  or  two  —  if  that  date  will  suit 
you  and  Brown.  At  any  rate  I  will  write  you 
then. 


282          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

CONCORD,  October  5,  1854. 

After  I  wrote  to  you,  Mr.  Watson  postponed 
my  going  to  Plymouth  one  week,  i.  e.,  till  next 
Sunday ;  and  now  he  wishes  me  to  carry  my  in 
struments  and  survey  his  grounds,  to  which  he 
has  been  adding.  Since  I  want  a  little  money, 
though  I  contemplate  but  a  short  excursion,  I 
do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  decline  this  work.  I  do 
not  know  exactly  how  long  it  will  detain  me,  — 
but  there  is  plenty  of  time  yet,  and  I  will  write 
to  you  again  —  perhaps  from  Plymouth. 

There  is  a  Mr.  Thomas  Cholmondeley  (pro 
nounced  Chumly)  a  young  English  author,  stay 
ing  at  our  house  at  present,  who  asks  me  to 
teach  him  botany  —  i.  <?.,  anything  which  I 
know ;  and  also  to  make  an  excursion  to  some 
mountain  with  him.  He  is  a  well-behaved  per 
son,  and  possibly  I  may  propose  his  taking  that 
run  to  Wachusett  with  us  —  if  it  will  be  agreea 
ble  to  you.  Nay,  if  I  do  not  hear  any  objection 
from  you,  I  will  consider  myself  at  liberty  to 
invite  him. 

CONCORD,  Saturday  P.  M.,  October  14,  1854. 
I  have  just  returned  from  Plymouth,  where  I 
have  been  detained  surveying  much  longer  than 
I  expected.  What  do  you  say  to  visiting  Wa 
chusett  next  Thursday  ?  I  will  start  at  7^  A.  M. 
unless  there  is  a  prospect  of  a  stormy  day,  go 


JST.  37.]  NEW  FRIENDS.  283 

by  cars  to  Westminster,  and  thence  011  foot  five 
or  six  miles  to  the  mountain-top,  where  I  may 
engage  to  meet  you,  at  (or  before)  12  M.  If  the 
weather  is  unfavorable,  I  will  try  again,  on  Fri 
day,  —  and  again  on  Monday.  If  a  storm  comes 
on  after  starting,  I  will  seek  you  at  the  tavern 
in  Princeton  centre,  as  soon  as  circumstances 
will  permit.  I  shall  expect  an  answer  at  once, 
to  clinch  the  bargain. 

The  year  1854  was  a  memorable  one  in  Tho- 
reau's  life,  for  it  brought  out  his  most  successful 
book,  "  Walden,"  and  introduced  him  to  the  no 
tice  of  the  world,  which  had  paid  small  attention 
to  his  first  book,  the  "Week,"  published  five 
years  earlier.  This  year  also  made  him  acquainted 
with  two  friends  to  whom  he  wrote  much,  and 
who  loved  to  visit  and  stroll  with  him  around 
Concord,  or  in  more  distant  places,  —  Thomas 
Cholmondeley,  an  Englishman  from  Shropshire, 
and  Daniel  Ricketson,  a  New  Bedford  Quaker, 
of  liberal  mind _and,., cultivated  tastes,  —  an  au 
thor  and  poet,  and  fond  of  corresponding  with 
poets, —  as  he  did  with  the  Howitts  and  William 
Barnes  of  England,  and  with  Bryant,  Emerson, 
Channing,  and  Thoreau,  in  America.  Few  of  the 
letters  to  Cholmondeley  are  yet  found,  being 
buried  temporarily  in  the  mass  of  family  papers 
at  Condover  Hall,  an  old  Elizabethan  mansion 


284          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

near  Shrewsbury,  which  Thomas  Cholmondeley 
inherited,  and  which  remains  in  his  family's  pos 
session  since  his  own  death  at  Florence  in  1864. 
But  the  letters  of  the  Englishman,  recently 
printed  in  the  "  Atlantic  Monthly  "  (December, 
1893),  show  how  sincere  was  the  attachment  of 
this  ideal  friend  to  the  Concord  recluse,  and  how 
well  he  read  that  character  which  the  rest  of 
England,  and  a  good  part  of  America,  have  been 
so  slow  to  recognize  for  what  it  really  was. 

Thomas  Cholmondeley  was  the  eldest  son  of 
Rev.  Charles  Cowper  Cholmondeley,  rector  of 
Overleigh,  Cheshire,  and  of  a  sister  to  Reginald 
Heber,  the  celebrated  bishop  of  Calcutta.  He 
was  born  in  1823,  and  brought  up  at  Hodnet,  in 
Shropshire,  where  his  father,  a  cousin  of  Lord 
Delamere,  had  succeeded  his  brother-in-law  as 
rector,  on  the  departure  of  Bishop  Heber  for 
India,  in  1823.  The  son  was  educated  at  Oriel 
College,  Oxford,  — a  friend,  and  perhaps  pupil  of 
Arthur  Hugh  Clough,  who  gave  him  letters  to 
Emerson  in  1854.  Years  before,  after  leaving 
Oxford,  he  had  gone  with  some  relatives  to  New 
Zealand,  and  before  coming  to  New  England,  he 
had  published  a  book,  "  Ultima  Thule,"  describ 
ing  that  Australasian  colony  of  England,  where 
he  lived  for  part  of  a  year.  He  had  previously 
studied  in  Germany,  and  traveled  on  the  Conti 
nent.  He  landed  in  America  the  first  time  in 


2ET.37.]   THOREAU  AND  CHOLMONDELEY.  285 

August,  1854,  and  soon  after  went  to  Concord, 
where,  at  the  suggestion  of  Emerson,  he  became 
an  inmate  of  Mrs.  Thoreau's  family.  This  made 
him  intimate  with  Henry  Thoreau  for  a  month 
or  two,  and  also  brought  him  into  acquaintance 
with  Ellery  Charming,  then  living  across  the 
main  street  of  Concord,  in  the  west  end  of  the 
village,  and  furnishing  to  Thoreau  a  landing- 
place  for  his  boat  under  the  willows  at  the  foot 
of  Channing's  small  garden.  Alcott  was  not 
then  in  Concord,  but  Cholmondeley  made  his 
acquaintance  in  Boston,  and  admired  his  charac 
ter  and  manners.1 

With  Channing  and  Thoreau  the  young  Eng 
lishman  visited  their  nearest  mountain,  Wachu- 
sett,  and  in  some  of  their  walks  the  artist  Rowse, 
who  made  the  first  portrait  of  Thoreau,  joined, 
for  he  was  then  in  Concord,  late  in  1854,  en 
graving  the  fine  head  of  Daniel  Webster  from 
a  painting  by  Ames,  and  this  engraving  he  gave 
both  to  Thoreau  and  to  Cholmondeley.  In  De 
cember  the  Englishman,  whose  patriotism  was 

1  See  Memoir  of  Bronson  Alcott,  pp.  485-494.  The  remark 
of  Emerson  quoted  on  p.  486,  that  Cholmondeley  was  "the 
son  of  a  Shropshire  squire,"  was  not  strictly  correct,  his  father 
being  a  Cheshire  clergyman  of  a  younger  branch  of  the  an 
cient  race  of  Cholmondeley.  But  he  was  the  grandson  of  a 
Shropshire  squire  (owner  of  land),  for  his  mother  was  daugh 
ter  and  sister  of  such  gentlemen,  and  it  was  her  brother  Rich 
ard  who  presented  Reginald  Heber  and  Charles  Cholmondeley 
to  the  living  of  Hodnet,  near  Market  Drayton. 


286          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

roused  by  the  delays  and  calamities  of  England 
in  her  Crimean  war,  resolved  to  go  home  and 
raise  a  company,  as  he  did,  first  spending  some 
weeks  in  lodgings  at  Boston  (Orange  Street)  in 
order  to  hear  Theodore  Parker  preach  and  visit 
Harvard  College,  of  which  I  was  then  a  student, 
in  the  senior  class.  He  visited  me  and  my  class 
mate,  Edwin  Morton,  and  called  on  some  of  the 
Cambridge  friends  of  Clough.  In  January, 
1855,  he  sailed  for  England,  and  there  received 
the  letter  of  Thoreau  printed  on  pages  295-298. 
The  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Ricketson  began 
by  letter  before  Cholmondeley  reached  Concord, 
but  Thoreau  did  not  visit  him  until  December, 
1854.  Mr.  Ricketson  says,  "  In  the  summer  of 
1854  I  purchased,  in  New  Bedford,  a  copy  of 
4  Walden.'  I  had  never  heard  of  its  author, 
but  in  this  admirable  and  most  original  book  I 
found  so  many  observations  on  plants,  birds,  and 
natural  objects  generally  in  which  I  was  also  in 
terested,  that  I  felt  at  once  I  had  found  a  con 
genial  spirit.  During  this  season  I  was  rebuild 
ing  a  house  in  the  country,  three  miles  from 
New  Bedford,  and  had  erected  a  small  building 
which  was  called  my  '  shanty ; '  and  my  family 
being  then  in  my  city  house,  I  made  this  build 
ing  my  temporary  home.  From  it  I  addressed 
my  first  letter  to  the  author  of  '  Walden.'  In 
reply  he  wrote,  '  I  had  duly  received  your  very 


JET.  37.]      THOREAU  AND  RICKETSON.          287 

kind  and  frank  letter,  but  delayed  to  answer  it 
thus  long  because  I  have  little  skill  as  a  corre 
spondent,  and  wished  to  send  you  something 
more  than  my  thanks.  I  was  gratified  by  your 
prompt  and  hearty  acceptance  of  my  book. 
Yours  is  the  only  word  of  greeting  I  am  likely 
to  receive  from  a  dweller  in  the  woods  like  my 
self,  —  from  where  the  whippoorwill  and  cuckoo 
are  heard,  and  there  are  better  than  moral 
clouds  drifting,  and  real  breezes  blowing.'  From 
that  year  until  his  death  in  1862  we  exchanged 
visits  annually,  and  letters  more  frequently.  He 
was  much  interested  in  the  botany  of  our  region, 
finding  here  many  marine  plants  he  had  not  be 
fore  seen.  When  our  friendship  began,  the  ad 
mirers  of  his  only  two  published  books  were 
few;  most  prominent  among  them  were  Emer 
son,  Alcott,  and  Channing  of  Concord,  Messrs. 
Blake  and  T.  Brown  of  Worcester,  Mr.  Marston 
Watson  of  Plymouth,  and  myself.  Many  ac 
cused  him  of  being  an  imitator  of  Emerson; 
others  thought  him  unsocial,  impracticable,  and 
ascetic.  Now  he  was  none  of  these ;  a  more 
original  man  never  lived,  nor  one  more  thor 
oughly  personifying  civility ;  no  man  could  hold 
a  finer  relationship  with  his  family  than  he." 

In  reply  to  Thoreau's  letter  just  quoted,  Mr. 
Ricketson  wrote  further  of  himself  and  his  local 
ity,  and  Thoreau  thus  continued  :  — 


288  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  October  1,  1854. 

DEAR  SIR, —  Your  account  excites  in  me  a 
desire  to  see  the  Middleborough  Ponds,  of  which 
I  had  already  heard  somewhat ;  as  also  some 
very  beautiful  ponds  on  the  Cape,  in  Harwich, 
I  think,  near  which  I  once  passed.  I  have  some 
times  also  thought  of  visiting  that  remnant  of 
our  Indians  still  living  near  you.  But  then,  you 
know,  there  is  nothing  like  one's  native  fields 
and  lakes.  The  best  news  you  send  me  is,  not 
that  Nature  with  you  is  so  fair  and  genial,  but 
that  there  is  one  there  who  likes  her  so  well. 
That  proves  all  that  was  asserted. 

Homer,  of  course,  you  include  in  your  list  of 
lovers  of  Nature ;  and,  by  the  way,  let  me  men 
tion  here,  —  for  this  is  "  my  thunder  "  lately,  — 
William  Gilpin's  long  series  of  books  on  the  Pic 
turesque,  with  their  illustrations.  If  it  chances 
that  you  have  not  met  with  these,  I  cannot  just 
now  frame  a  better  wish  than  that  you  may  one 
day  derive  as  much  pleasure  from  the  inspection 
of  them  as  I  have. 

Much  as  you  have  told  me  of  yourself,  you 
have  still,  I  think,  a  little  the  advantage  of  me 
in  this  correspondence,  for  I  have  told  you  still 
more  in  my  book.  You  have  therefore  the  broad 
est  mark  to  fire  at. 


JET.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  289 

A  young1  Englishman,  Mr.  Cholmondeley,  is 
just  now  waiting  for  me  to  take  a  walk  with 
him ;  therefore  excuse  this  very  barren  note 
from  yours,  hastily  at  last. 

TO     HARRISON    BLAKE. 

CONCORD,  December  22,  1854. 

MR.  BLAKE, —  I  will  lecture  for  your  Lyceum 
on  the  4th  of  January  next ;  and  I  hope  that  I 
shall  have  time  for  that  good  day  out  of  doors. 
Mr.  Cholmondeley  is  in  Boston,  yet  perhaps  I 
may  invite  him  to  accompany  me.  I  have  en 
gaged  to  lecture  at  New  Bedford  on  the  26th 
hist.,  stopping  with  Daniel  Ricketson,  three 
miles  out  of  town ;  and  at  Nantucket  on  the 
28th,  so  that  I  shall  be  gone  all  next  week. 
They  say  there  is  some  danger  of  being  weather 
bound  at  Nantucket ;  but  I  see  that  others  run 
the  same  risk.  You  had  better  acknowledge  the 
receipt  of  this  at  any  rate,  though  you  should 
write  nothing  else ;  otherwise  I  shall  not  know 
whether  you  get  it;  but  perhaps  you  will  not 
wait  till  you  have  seen  me,  to  answer  my  letter 
(of  December  19).  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think 
of  lecturing  when  I  see  you.  Did  you  see  the 
notice  of  "  Walden  "  in  the  last  "  Anti-Slavery 
Standard  "  ?  You  will  not  be  surprised  if  I  tell 
you  that  it  reminded  me  of  you. 


290  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

As  above  mentioned,  Thoreau  went  to  lecture 
at  Nantucket,  and  on  his  way  spent  a  day  or 
two  with  Mr.  Ricketson,  reaching  his  house  011 
Christmas  Day.  His  host,  who  then  saw  him  for 
the  first  time,  says  :  — 

"  I  had  expected  him  at  noon,  but  as  he  did 
not  arrive,  I  had  given  him  up  for  the  day.  In 
the  latter  part  of  the  afternoon  I  was  clearing 
off  the  snow  from  my  front  steps,  when,  looking 
up,  I  saw  a  man  walking  up  the  carriage-road, 
bearing  a  portmanteau  in  one  hand  and  an  um 
brella  in  the  other.  He  was  dressed  in  a  long 
overcoat  of  dark  color,  and  wore  a  dark  soft 
hat.  I  had  no  suspicion  it  was  Thoreau,  and 
rather  supposed  it  was  a  peddler  of  small 
wares." 

This  was  a  common  mistake  to  make.  When 
Thoreau  ran  the  gauntlet  of  the  Cape  Cod  vil 
lages,  —  "  feeling  as  strange,"  he  says,  "  as  if  he 
were  in  a  town  in  China,"  —  one  of  the  old  fish 
ermen  could  not  believe  that  he  had  not  some 
thing  to  sell.  Being  finally  satisfied  that  it  was 
not  a  peddler  with  his  pack,  the  old  man  said, 
"Wai,  it  makes  no  odds  what  'tis  you  carry, 
so  long  as  you  carry  Truth  along  with  ye."  Mr. 
Ricketson  soon  came  to  the  same  conclusion 
about  his  visitor,  and  in  the  early  September  of 
1855  returned  the  visit. 


J5T.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  291 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  December  19, 1854. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  suppose  you  have  heard  of 
my  truly  providential  meeting  with  Mr.  T. 
Brown ;  providential  because  it  saved  me  from 
the  suspicion  that  my  words  had  fallen  alto 
gether  on  stony  ground,  when  it  turned  out  that 
there  was  some  Worcester  soil  there.  You  will 
allow  me  to  consider  that  I  correspond  with  him 
through  you. 

I  confess  that  I  am  a  very  bad  correspondent, 
so  far  as  promptness  of  reply  is  concerned ;  but 
then  I  am  sure  to  answer  sooner  or  later.  The 
longer  I  have  forgotten  you,  the  more  I  remem 
ber  you.  For  the  most  part  I  have  not  been  idle 
since  I  saw  you.  How  does  the  world  go  with 
you?  or  rather,  how  do  you  get  along  without  it? 
I  have  not  yet  learned  to  live,  that  I  can  see, 
and  I  fear  that  I  shall  not  very  soon.  I  find, 
however,  that  in  the  long  run  things  correspond 
to  my  original  idea,  —  that  they  correspond  to 
nothing  else  so  much ;  and  thus  a  man  may 
really  be  a  true  prophet  without  any  great  exer 
tion.  The  day  is  never  so  dark,  nor  the  night 
even,  but  that  the  laws  at  least  of  light  still  pre 
vail,  and  so  may  make  it  light  in  our  minds  if 
they  are  open  to  the  truth.  There  is  considera 
ble  danger  that  a  man  will  be  crazy  between 


292          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

dinner  and  supper ;  but  it  will  not  directly  an 
swer  any  good  purpose  that  I  know  of,  and  it  is 
just  as  easy  to  be  sane.  We  have  got  to  know 
what  both  life  and  death  are,  before  we  can  be 
gin  to  live  after  our  own  fashion.  Let  us  be 
learning  our  a-b-c's  as  soon  as  possible.  I  never 
yet  knew  the  sun  to  be  knocked  down  and  rolled 
through  a  mud-puddle ;  he  comes  out  honor- 
bright  from  behind  every  storm.  Let  us  then 
take  sides  with  the  sun,  seeing  we  have  so  much 
leisure.  Let  us  not  put  all  we  prize  into  a  foot 
ball  to  be  kicked,  when  a  bladder  will  do  as 
well. 

When  an  Indian  is  burned,  his  body  may  be 
broiled,  it  may  be  no  more  than  a  beefsteak. 
What  of  that  ?  They  may  broil  his  heart,  but 
they  do  not  therefore  broil  his  courage,  —  his 
principles.  Be  of  good  courage !  That  is  the 
main  thing. 

If  a  man  were  to  place  himself  in  an  attitude 
to  bear  manfully  the  greatest  evil  that  can  be 
inflicted  on  him,  he  would  find  suddenly  that 
there  was  no  such  evil  to  bear ;  his  brave  back 
would  go  a-begging.  When  Atlas  got  his  back 
made  up,  that  was  all  that  was  required.  (In 
this  case  a  priv.,  not  pleon.,  and  rA.f//u.)  The 
world  rests  on  principles.  The  wise  gods  will 
never  make  underpinning  of  a  man.  But  as 
long  as  he  crouches,  and  skulks,  and  shirks  his 


*ST.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  293 

work,  every  creature  that  has  weight  will  be 
treading  on  his  toes,  and  crushing  him ;  he  will 
himself  tread  with  one  foot  on  the  other  foot. 

The  monster  is  never  just  there  where  we 
think  he  is.  What  is  truly  monstrous  is  our 
cowardice  and  sloth. 

Have  no  idle  disciplines  like  the  Catholic 
Church  and  others ;  have  only  positive  and  fruit 
ful  ones.  Do  what  you  know  you  ought  to  do. 
Why  should  we  ever  go  abroad,  even  across  the 
way,  to  ask  a  neighbor's  advice  ?  There  is  a 
nearer  neighbor  within  us  incessantly  telling  us 
how  we  should  behave.  But  we  wait  for  the 
neighbor  without  to  tell  us  of  some  false,  easier 
way. 

They  have  a  census-table  in  which  they  put 
down  the  number  of  the  insane.  Do  you  believe 
that  they  put  them  all  down  there  ?  Why,  in 
every  one  of  these  houses  there  is  at  least  one 
man  fighting  or  squabbling  a  good  part  of  his 
time  with  a  dozen  pet  demons  of  his  own  breed 
ing  and  cherishing,  which  are  relentlessly  gnaw 
ing  at  his  vitals  ;  and  if  perchance  he  resolve  at 
length  that  he  will  courageously  combat  them, 
he  says,  "Ay!  ay!  I  will  attend  to  you  after 
dinner !  "  And,  when  that  time  comes,  he  con 
cludes  that  he  is  good  for  another  stage,  and 
reads  a  column  or  two  about  the  Eastern  War  ! 
Pray,  to  be  in  earnest,  where  is  Sevastopol? 


294          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1854, 

Who  is  Menchikoff  ?  and  Nicholas  behind  there? 
who  the  Allies  ?  Did  not  we  fight  a  little  (little 
enough  to  be  sure,  but  just  enough  to  make  it 
interesting)  at  Alma,  at  Balaclava,  at  Inker- 
maim  ?  We  love  to  fight  far  from  home.  Ah  ! 
the  Minie  musket  is  the  king  of  weapons.  Well, 
let  us  get  one  then. 

I  just  put  another  stick  into  my  stove,  —  a 
pretty  large  mass  of  white  oak.  How  many  men 
will  do  enough  this  cold  winter  to  pay  for  the 
fuel  that  will  be  required  to  warm  them?  I  sup 
pose  I  have  burned  up  a  pretty  good-sized  tree 
to-night,  —  and  for  what  ?  I  settled  with  Mr. 
Tarbell  for  it  the  other  day ;  but  that  was  n't 
the  final  settlement.  I  got  off  cheaply  from  him. 
At  last,  one  will  say,  "  Let  us  see,  how  much 
wood  did  you  burn,  sir?  "  And  I  shall  shudder 
to  think  that  the  next  question  will  be,  "  What 
did  you  do  while  you  were  warm?"  Do  we 
think  the  ashes  will  pay  for  it  ?  that  God  is  an 
ash-man  ?  It  is  a  fact  that  we  have  got  to  ren 
der  an  account  for  the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 

Who  knows  but  we  shall  be  better  the  next 
year  than  we  have  been  the  past?  At  any  rate, 
I  wish  you  a  really  new  year,  —  commencing 
from  the  instant  you  read  this,  —  and  happy  or 
unhappy,  according  to  your  deserts. 

The  early  part  of  1855  was  spent  by  Thomas 


JET.  37.]    TO   THOMAS   CHOLMONDELEY.      295 

Cholmondeley  in  a  tiresome  passage  to  England, 
whence  he  wrote  (January  27)  to  say  to  Thoreau 
that  he  had  reached  Shropshire,  and  been  com 
missioned  captain  in  the  local  militia,  in  prepa 
ration  for  service  at  Sevastopol,  but  reminding 
his  Concord  friend  of  a  half  promise  to  visit 
England  some  day.  To  this  Thoreau  made 
answer  thus  :  — 

TO    THOMAS    CHOLMONDELEY    (AT    HOD1STET). 

CONCORD,  Mass.,  February  7,  1855. 

DEAR  CHOLMONDELEY,  —  I  am  glad* to  hear 
that  you  have  arrived  safely  at  Hodnet,  and  that 
there  is  a  solid  piece  of  ground  of  that  name 
which  can  support  a  man  better  than  a  floating 
plank,  in  that  to  me  as  yet  purely  historical 
England.  But  have  I  not  seen  you  with  my 
own  eyes,  a  piece  of  England  herself,  and  was 
not  your  letter  come  out  to  me  thence  ?  I  have 
now  reason  to  believe  that  Salop  is  as  real  a 
place  as  Concord ;  with  at  least  as  good  an  un 
derpinning  of  granite,  floating  on  liquid  fire.  I 
congratulate  you  on  having  arrived  safely  at 
that  floating  isle,  after  your  disagreeable  pass 
age  in  the  steamer  America.  So  are  we  not  all 
making  a  passage,  agreeable  or  disagreeable,  in 
the  steamer  Earth,  trusting  to  arrive  at  last  at 
some  less  undulating  Salop  and  brother's  house  ? 

I  cannot  say  that  I  ani  surprised  to  hear  that 


296          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

you  have  joined  the  militia,  after  what  I  have 
heard  from  your  lips ;  but  I  am  glad  to  doubt  if 
there  will  be  occasion  for  your  volunteering  into 
the  line.  Perhaps  I  am  thinking  of  the  saying 
that  it  "  is  always  darkest  just  before  day."  I 
believe  it  is  only  necessary  that  England  be  fully 
awakened  to  a  sense  of  her  position,  in  order 
that  she  may  right  herself,  especially  as  the 
weather  will  soon  cease  to  be  her  foe.  I  wish 
I  could  believe  that  the  cause  in  which  you  are 
embarked  is  the  cause  of  the  people  of  England. 
However,  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  idleness 
that  would  contrast  this  fighting  with  the  teach 
ings  of  the  pulpit;  for,  perchance,  more  true 
virtue  is  being  practiced  at  Sevastopol  than  in 
many  years  of  peace.  It  is  a  pity  that  we  seem 
to  require  a  war,  from  time  to  time,  to  assure  us 
that  there  is  any  manhood  still  left  in  man. 

I  was  much  pleased  with  [J.  J.  G.]  Wilkin 
son's  vigorous  and  telling  assault  on  Allopathy, 
though  he  substitutes  another  and  perhaps  no 
stronger  thy  for  that.  Something  as  good  on 
the  whole  conduct  of  the  war  would  be  of  ser 
vice.  Cannot  Caiiyle  supply  it?  We  will  not 
require  him  to  provide  the  remedy.  Every  man 
to  his  trade.  As  you  know,  I  am  not  in  any 
sense  a  politician.  You,  who  live  in  that  snug 
and  compact  isle,  may  dream  of  a  glorious  com 
monwealth,  but  I  have  some  doubts  whether  I 


asx.37.]     TO   THOMAS  CHOLMONDELEY.      297 

and  the  new  king  of  the  Sandwich  Islands  shall 
pull  together.  When  I  think  of  the  gold-diggers 
and  the  Mormons,  the  slaves  and  the  slavehold 
ers  and  the  flibustiers,  I  naturally  dream  of  a 
glorious  private  life.  No,  I  am  not  patriotic  ;  I 
shall  not  meddle  with  the  Gem  of  the  Antilles. 
General  Quitman l  cannot  count  on  my  aid,  alas 
for  him !  nor  can  General  Pierce.2 

I  still  take  my  daily  walk,  or  skate  over  Con 
cord  fields  or  meadows,  and  on  the  whole  have 
more  to  do  with  nature  than  with  man.  We 
have  not  had  much  snow  this  winter,  but  have 
had  some  remarkably  cold  weather,  the  mercury, 
February  6,  not  rising  above  6°  below  zero  dur 
ing  the  day,  and  the  next  morning  falling  to 
26°.  Some  ice  is  still  thirty  inches  thick  about 
us.  A  rise  in  the  river  has  made  uncommonly 
good  skating,  which  I  have  improved  to  the  ex 
tent  of  some  thirty  miles  a  day,  fifteen  out  and 
fifteen  in. 

Emerson  is  off  westward,  enlightening  the 
Hamiltonians  [in  Canada]  and  others,  mingling 
his  thunder  with  that  of  Niagara.  Chamiing 
still  sits  warming  his  five  wits  —  his  sixth,  you 
know,  is  always  limber  —  over  that  stove,  with 

1  Quitman,  aided  perhaps  by  Laurence  Oliphant,  was  aim 
ing  to  capture  Cuba  with  "  filibusters  "  (flibustiers). 

2  Then  President  of   the  United  States,  whose  life  Haw 
thorne  had  written  in  1852. 


298          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1855, 

the  dog  down  cellar.  Lowell  has  just  been  ap 
pointed  Professor  of  Belles-Lettres  in  Harvard 
University,  in  place  of  Longfellow,  resigned, 
and  will  go  very  soon  to  spend  another  year  in 
Europe,  before  taking  his  seat. 

I  am  from  time  to  time  congratulating  myself 
on  my  general  want  of  success  as  a  lecturer; 
apparent  want  of  success,  but  is  it  not  a  real  tri 
umph?  I  do  my  work  clean  as  I  go  along,  and 
they  will  not  be  likely  to  want  me  anywhere 
again.  So  there  is  110  danger  of  my  repeating 
myself,  and  getting  to  a  barrel  of  sermons, 
which  you  must  upset,  and  begin  again  with. 

My  father  and  mother  and  sister  all  desire  to 
be  remembered  to  you,  and  trust  that  you  will 
never  come  within  range  of  Russian  bullets.  Of 
course,  I  would  rather  think  of  you  as  settled 
down  there  in  Shropshire,  in  the  camp  of  the 
English  people,  making  acquaintance  with  your 
men,  striking  at  the  root  of  the  evil,  perhaps 
assaulting  that  rampart  of  cotton  bags  that  you 
tell  of.  But  it  makes  no  odds  where  a  man  goes 
or  stays,  if  he  is  only  about  his  business. 

Let  me  hear  from  you,  wherever  you  are,  and 
believe  me  yours  ever  in  the  good  fight,  whether 
before  Sevastopol  or  under  the  wreken. 

While  Cholmondeley's  first  letter  from  Eng 
land  was  on  its  way  to  Concord,  Thoreau  was 


asT.37.]       THOREAU  IN  CAMBRIDGE.  299 

one  clay  making  his  occasional  call  at  the  Har 
vard  College  Library  (where  he  found  and  was 
allowed  to  take  away  volumes  relating  to  his 
manifold  studies),  when  it  occurred  to  him  to 
call  at  my  student-chamber  in  Holworthy  Hall, 
and  there  leave  a  copy  of  his  "  Week."  I  had 
never  met  him,  and  was  then  out ;  the  occasion 
of  his  call  was  a  review  of  his  two  books  that 
had  come  out  a  few  weeks  earlier  in  the  "  Har 
vard  Magazine,"  of  which  I  was  an  editor  and 
might  be  supposed  to  have  had  some  share  in 
the  criticism.  The  volume  was  left  with  my 
classmate  Lymaxi,  accompanied  by  a  message 
that  it  was  intended  for  the  critic  in  the  Maga 
zine.  Accordingly,  I  gave  it  to  Edwin  Morton, 
who  was  the  reviewer,  and  notified  Thoreau  by 
letter  of  that  fact,  and  of  my  hope  to  see  him 
soon  in  Cambridge  or  Concord.1  To  this  he 
replied  in  a  few  days  as  below :  — 

1  I  had  been  visiting-  Emerson  occasionally  for  a  year  or 
two,  and  knew  Alcott  well  at  this  time  ;  was  also  intimate  with 
Cholmondeley  in  the  autumn  of  1854,  but  had  never  seen  Tho 
reau  ;  a  fact  which  shows  how  recluse  were  then  his  habits. 
The  letter  below,  and  the  long  one  describing1  his  trip  to  Min 
nesota,  were  the  only  ones  I  received  from  him  in  a  friendship 
of  seven  years.  See  Sanborn's  Thoreau,  pp.  195-200.  Edwin 
Morton  was  my  classmate.  See  pp.  286,  353,  440. 


300          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

TO   F.    B.    SANBOBN   (AT   HAMPTON   FALLS,    N.    H.). 
CONCORD,  February  2,  1855. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  fear  that  you  did  not  get  the 
note  which  I  left  with  the  Librarian  for  you, 
and  so  will  thank  you  again  for  your  politeness. 
I  was  sorry  that  I  was  obliged  to  go  into  Boston 
almost  immediately.  However,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  see  you  whenever  you  come  to  Concord,  and 
I  will  suggest  nothing  to  discourage  your  com 
ing,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned;  trusting  that  you 
know  what  it  is  to  take  a  partridge  on  the  wing. 
You  tell  me  that  the  author  of  the  criticism  is 
Mr.  Morton.  I  had  heard  as  much,  —  and  in 
deed  guessed  more.  I  have  latterly  found  Con 
cord  nearer  to  Cambridge  than  I  believed  I 

O 

should,  when  I  was  leaving  my  Alma  Mater ; 
and  hence  you  will  not  be  surprised  if  even  I 
feel  some  interest  in  the  success  of  the  "  Har 
vard  Magazine." 

Believe  me  yours  truly, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

At  this  time  I  was  under  engagement  with 
Mr.  Emerson  and  others  in  Concord  to  take 
charge  of  a  small  school  there  in  March ;  and 
did  so  without  again  seeing  the  author  of  "  Wai- 
den  "  in  Cambridge.  Soon  after  my  settlement 
at  Concord,  in  the  house  of  Mr.  Channing,  just 


asT.37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  301 

opposite  Thoreau's,  he  made  an  evening  call  on 
me  and  my  sister  (April  11,  1855),  but  I  had 
already  met  him  more  than  once  at  Mr.  Emer 
son's,  and  was  even  beginning  to  take  walks 
with  him,  as  frequently  happened  in  the  next 
six  years.  In  the  following  summer  I  began 
to  dine  daily  at  his  mother's  table,  and  thus  saw 
him  almost  every  day  for  three  years. 

TO   HARBISON    BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  June  27,  1855. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  been  sick  and  good  for 
nothing  but  to  lie  on  my  back  and  wait  for 
something  to  turn  up,  for  two  or  three  months. 
This  has  compelled  me  to  postpone  several 
things,  among  them  writing  to  you,  to  whom  I 
am  so  deeply  in  debt,  and  inviting  you  and 
Brown  to  Concord,  —  not  having  brains  ade 
quate  to  such  an  exertion.  I  should  feel  a  little 
less  ashamed  if  I  could  give  any  name  to  my 
disorder,  —  but  I  cannot,  and  our  doctor  cannot 
help  me  to  it,  —  and  I  will  not  take  the  name  of 
any  disease  in  vain.  However,  there  is  one  con 
solation  in  being  sick ;  and  that  is  the  possibil 
ity  that  you  may  recover  to  a  better  state  than 
you  were  ever  in  before.  I  expected  in  the  win 
ter  to  be  deep  in  the  woods  of  Maine  in  my 
canoe,  long  before  this ;  but  I  am  so  far  from 
this  that  I  can  only  take  a  languid  walk  in  Con 
cord  streets. 


302        FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.  [1855, 

I  do  not  know  how  the  mistake  arose  about 
the  Cape  Cod  excursion.  The  nearest  I  have 
come  to  that  with  anybody  is  this :  About  a 
month  ago  Channing  proposed  to  me  to  go  to 
Truro  on  Cape  Cod  with  him,  and  board  there 
a  while,  —  but  I  declined.  For  a  week  past, 
however,  I  have  been  a  little  inclined  to  go  there 
and  sit  on  the  seashore  a  week  or  more ;  but  I 
do  not  venture  to  propose  myself  as  the  compan 
ion  of  him  or  of  any  peripatetic  man.  Not  that 
I  should  not  rejoice  to  have  you  and  Brown  or 
C.  sitting  there  also.  I  am  not  sure  that  C. 
really  wishes  to  go  now ;  and  as  I  go  simply  for 
the  medicine  of  it,  I  should  not  think  it  worth 
the  while  to  notify  him  when  I  am  about  to  take 
my  bitters.  Since  I  began  this,  or  within  five 
minutes,  I  have  begun  to  think  that  I  will  start 
for  Truro  next  Saturday  morning,  the  30th.  I 
do  not  know  at  what  hour  the  packet  leaves 
Boston,  nor  exactly  what  kind  of  accommoda 
tion  I  shall  find  at  Truro. 

I  should  be  singularly  favored  if  you  and 
Brown  were  there  at  the  same  time ;  and  though 
you  speak  of  the  20th  of  July,  I  will  be  so  bold 
as  to  suggest  your  coming  to  Concord  Friday 
night  (when,  by  the  way,  Garrison  and  Phillips 
hold  forth  here),  and  going  to  the  Cape  with 
me.  Though  we  take  short  walks  together  there, 
we  can  have  long  talks,  and  you  and  Brown  will 


MT.  37.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  303 

have  time  enough  for  your  own  excursions  be 
sides. 

I  received  a  letter  from  Cholmoiideley  last 
winter,  which  I  should  like  to  show  you,  as  well 
as  his  book.1  He  said  that  he  had  "  accepted 
the  offer  of  a  captaincy  in  the  Salop  Militia," 
and  was  hoping  to  take  an  active  part  in  the  war 
before  long. 

I  thank  you  again  and  again  for  the  encour 
agement  your  letters  are  to  me.  But  I  must 
stop  this  writing,  or  I  shall  have  to  pay  for  it. 

NORTH  TKUKO,  July  8,  1855. 

There  being  no  packet,  I  did  not  leave  Bos 
ton  till  last  Thursday,  though  I  came  down  on 
Wednesday,  and  Charming  with  me.  There  is 
no  public  house  here ;  but  we  are  boarding  with 
Mr.  James  Small,  the  keeper,  in  a  little  house 
attached  to  the  Highland  Lighthouse.  It  is  true 
the  table  is  not  so  clean  as  could  be  desired, 
but  I  have  found  it  much  superior  in  that  re 
spect  to  the  Provincetown  hotel.  They  are  what 
is  called  "  good  livers."  Our  host  has  another 
larger  and  very  good  house,  within  a  quarter  of 
a  mile,  unoccupied,  where  he  says  he  can  accom 
modate  several  more.  He  is  a  very  good  man 
to  deal  with,  —  has  often  been  the  representative 
of  the  town,  and  is  perhaps  the  most  intelligent 

1  The  book  was  Ultima  Thule,  describing  New  Zealand. 


304          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

man  in  it.  I  shall  probably  stay  here  as  much 
as  ten  days  longer :  board  13.50  per  week.  So 
you  and  Brown  had  better  come  down  forthwith. 
You  will  find  either  the  schooner  Melrose  or  an 
other,  or  both,  leaving  Commerce  Street,  or  else 
T  Wharf,  at  9  A.  M.  (it  commonly  means  10), 
Tuesdays,  Thursdays,  and  Saturdays,  —  if  not 
other  days.  We  left  about  10  A.  M.,  and  reached 
Provincetown  at  5  P.  M.,  —  a  very  good  run.  A 
stage  runs  up  the  Cape  every  morning  but  Sun 
day,  starting  at  4|  A.  M.,  and  reaches  the  post- 
office  in  North  Truro,  seven  miles  from  Prov 
incetown,  and  one  from  the  lighthouse,  about 
6  o'clock.  If  you  arrive  at  P.  before  night,  you 
can  walk  over,  and  leave  your  baggage  to  be 
sent.  You  can  also  come  by  cars  from  Boston 
to  Yarmouth,  and  thence  by  stage  forty  miles 
more,  —  through  every  day,  but  it  costs  much 
more,  and  is  not  so  pleasant.  Come  by  all 
means,,  for  it  is  the  best  place  to  see  the  ocean 
in  these  States.  I  hope  I  shall  be  worth  meet 
ing. 

July  14. 

You  say  that  you  hope  I  will  excuse  your  fre 
quent  writing.  I  trust  you  will  excuse  my  in 
frequent  and  curt  writing  until  I  am  able  to 
resume  my  old  habits,  which  for  three  months  I 
have  been  compelled  to  abandon.  Methinks  I 
am  beginning  to  be  better.  I  think  to  leave  the 


aor.38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  305 

Cape  next  Wednesday,  and  so  shall  not  see  you 
here ;  but  I  shall  be  glad  to  meet  you  in  Con 
cord,  though  I  may  not  be  able  to  go  before  the 
mast,  in  a  boating  excursion.  This  is  an  admir 
able  place  for  coolness  and  sea-bathing  and  re 
tirement.  You  must  come  prepared  for  cool 
weather  and  fogs. 

P.  S.  —  There  is  no  mail  up  till  Monday 
morning. 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  September  26,  1855. 

ME.  BLAKE,  —  The  other  day  I  thought  that 
my  health  must  be  better,  — -  that  I  gave  at  last 
a  sign  of  vitality,  —  because  I  experienced  a 
slight  chagrin.  But  I  do  not  see  how  strength 
is  to  be  got  into  my  legs  again.  These  months 
of  feebleness  have  yielded  few,  if  any,  thoughts, 
though  they  have  not  passed  without  serenity, 
such  as  our  sluggish  Musketaquid  suggests.  I 
hope  that  the  harvest  is  to  come.  I  trust  that 
you  have  at  least  warped  up  the  stream  a  little 
daily,  holding  fast  by  your  anchors  at  night, 
since  I  saw  you,  and  have  kept  my  place  for  me 
while  I  have  been  absent. 

Mr.  Ricketson  of  New  Bedford  has  just  made 
me  a  visit  of  a  day  and  a  half,  and  I  have  had  a 
quite  good  time  with  him.  He  and  Channing 
have  got  on  particularly  well  together.  He  is 


306          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

a  man  of  very  simple  tastes,  notwithstanding  his 
wealth ;  a  lover  of  nature ;  but,  above  all,  singu 
larly  frank  and  plain-spoken.  I  think  that  you 
might  enjoy  meeting  him. 

Sincerity  is  a  great  but  rare  virtue,  and  we 
pardon  to  it  much  complaining,  and  the  betrayal 
of  many  weaknesses.  R.  says  of  himself,  that 
he  sometimes  thinks  that  he  has  all  the  infirm 
ities  of  genius  without  the  genius  ;  is  wretched 
without  a  hair-pillow,  etc. ;  expresses  a  great 
and  awful  uncertainty  with  regard  to  "  God," 
"  Death,"  his  "  immortality  ;  "  says,  "  If  I  only 
knew,"  etc.  He  loves  Cowper's  "  Task  "  better 
than  anything  else ;  and  thereafter,  perhaps, 
Thomson,  Gray,  and  even  Howitt.  He  has  evi 
dently  suffered  for  want  of  sympathizing  com 
panions.  He  says  that  he  sympathizes  with 
much  in  my  books,  but  much  in  them  is  naught 
to  him,  —  "  namby-pamby,"  —  "  stuff,"  —  "  mys 
tical."  Why  will  not  I,  having  common  sense, 
write  in  plain  English  always;  teach  men  in 
detail  how  to  live  a  simpler  life,  etc. ;  not  go  off 

into  ?     But  I  say  that  I  have  no  scheme 

about  it,  —  no  designs  on  men  at  all ;  and,  if  I 
had,  my  mode  would  be  to  tempt  them  with  the 
fruit,  and  not  with  the  manure.  To  what  end 
do  I  lead  a  simple  life  at  all,  pray  ?  That  I  may 
teach  others  to  simplify  their  lives  ?  —  and  so  all 
our  lives  be  simplified  merely,  like  an  algebraic 


arc.  38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  307 

formula  ?  Or  not,  rather,  that  I  may  make  use 
of  the  ground  I  have  cleared,  to  live  more  wor 
thily  and  profitably  ?  I  would  fain  lay  the  most 
stress  forever  on  that  which  is  the  most  impor 
tant,  —  imports  the  most  to  me,  —  though  it  were 
only  (what  it  is  likely  to  be)  a  vibration  in  the 
air.  As  a  preacher,  I  should  be  prompted  to 
tell  men,  not  so  much  how  to  get  their  wheat- 
bread  cheaper,  as  of  the  bread  of  life  compared 
with  which  that  is  bran.  Let  a  man  only  taste 
these  loaves,  and  he  becomes  a  skillful  economist 
at  once.  He  '11  not  waste  much  time  in  earning 
those.  Don't  spend  your  time  in  drilling  sol 
diers,  who  may  turn  out  hirelings  after  all,  but 
give  to  undrilled  peasantry  a  country  to  fight 
for.  The  schools  begin  with  what  they  call  the 
elements,  and  where  do  they  end  ? 

I  was  glad  to  hear  the  other  day  that  Higgin- 

son.  and were  gone  to  Ktaadn ;  it  must  be 

so  much  better  to  go  to  than  a  Woman's  Rights 
or  Abolition  Convention  ;  better  still,  to  the  de 
lectable  primitive  mounts  within  you,  which  you 
have  dreamed  of  from  your  youth  up,  and  seen, 
perhaps,  in  the  horizon,  but  never  climbed. 

But  how  do  you  do  ?  Is  the  air  sweet  to  you  ? 
Do  you  find  anything  at  which  you  can  work, 
accomplishing  something  solid  from  day  to  day  ? 
Have  you  put  sloth  and  doubt  behind,  consider 
ably? —  had  one  redeeming  dream  this  summer? 


308  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.       [1855, 

I  dreamed,  last  night,  that  I  could  vault  over 
any  height  it  pleased  me.  That  was  something ; 
and  I  contemplated  myself  with  a  slight  satisfac 
tion  in  the  morning  for  it. 

Methinks  I  will  write  to  you.  Methinks  you 
will  be  glad  to  hear.  We  will  stand  on  solid 
foundations  to  one  another,  —  la  column  planted 
on  this  shore,  you  011  that.  We  meet  the  same 
sun  in  his  rising.  We  were  built  slowly,  and 
have  come  to  our  bearing.  We  will  not  mutu 
ally  fall  over  that  we  may  meet,  but  will  grandly 
and  eternally  guard  the  straits.  Methinks  I  see 
an  inscription  on  you,  which  the  architect  made, 
the  stucco  being  worn  off  to  it.  The  name  of 
that  ambitious  worldly  king  is  crumbling  away. 
I  see  it  toward  sunset  in  favorable  lights.  Each 
must  read  for  the  other,  as  might  a  sailer-by. 
Be  sure  you  are  star-y-pointing  still.  How  is  it 
on  your  side?  I  will  not  require  an  answer 
until  you  think  I  have  paid  my  debts  to  you. 

I  have  just  got  a  letter  from  Ricketson,  urg 
ing  me  to  come  to  New  Bedford,  which  possibly 
I  may  do.  He  says  I  can  wear  my  old  clothes 
there. 

Let  me  be  remembered  in  your  quiet  house. 


2ET.38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  309 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  September  27, 1855. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  am  sorry  that  you 
were  obliged  to  leave  Concord  without  seeing 
more  of  it,  —  its  river  and  woods,  and  various 
pleasant  walks,  and  its  worthies.  I  assure  you 
that  I  am  none  the  worse  for  my  walk  with  you, 
but  on  all  accounts  the  better.  Methinks  I  am 
regaining  my  health ;  but  I  would  like  to  know 
first  what  it  was  that  ailed  me. 

I  have  not  yet  conveyed  your  message  to  Mr. 
Hosmer,1  but  will  not  fail  to  do  so.  That  idea 
of  occupying  the  old  house  is  a  good  one, —  quite 
feasible,  —  and  you  could  bring  your  hair-pillow 
with  you.  It  is  an  inn  in  Concord  which  I  had 
not  thought  of,  —  a  philosopher's  inn.  That 
large  chamber  might  make  a  man's  idea  expand 
proportionably.  It  would  be  well  to  have  an 
interest  in  some  old  chamber  in  a  deserted  house 
in  every  part  of  the  country  which  attracted  us. 

1  This  was  Edmund  Hosmer,  a  Concord  farmer,  before  men 
tioned  as  a  friend  of  Emerson,  who  was  fond  of  quoting  his 
sagacious  and  often  cynical  remarks.  He  had  entertained 
George  Curtis  and  the  Alcotts  at  his  farm  on  the  "  Turnpike," 
southeast  of  Emerson's ;  but  now  was  living  on  a  part  of  the 
old  manor  of  Governor  Winthrop,  which  soon  passed  to  the 
ownership  of  the  Hunts ;  and  this  house  which  Mr.  Ricketson 
proposed  to  lease  was  the  "  old  Hunt  farmhouse,"  —  in  truth 
built  for  the  Winthrops  two  centuries  before.  It  was  soon 
after  torn  down. 


310          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

There  would  be  no  such,  place  to  receive  one's 
guests  as  that.  If  old  furniture  is  fashionable, 
why  not  go  the  whole  house  at  once  ?  I  shall 
endeavor  to  make  Mr.  Hosmer  believe  that  the 
old  house  is  the  chief  attraction  of  his  farm,  and 
that  it  is  his  duty  to  preserve  it  by  all  honest 
appliances.  You  might  take  a  lease  of  it  in  per- 
petuo,  and  done  with  it. 

I  am  so  wedded  to  my  way  of  spending  a  day, 
—  require  such  broad  margins  of  leisure,  and  such 
a  complete  wardrobe  of  old  clothes,  —  that  I  am 
ill-fitted  for  going  abroad.  Pleasant  is  it  some 
times  to  sit  at  home,  on  a  single  egg  all  day,  in 
your  own  nest,  though  it  may  prove  at  last  to  be 
an  egg  of  chalk.  The  old  coat  that  I  wear  is 
Concord ;  it  is  my  morning-robe  and  study-gown, 
my  working  dress  and  suit  of  ceremony,  and  my 
nightgown  after  all.  Cleave  to  the  simplest  ever. 
Home,  —  home,  —  home.  Cars  sound  like  cares 
to  me. 

I  am  accustomed  to  think  very  long  of  going 
anywhere,  —  am  slow  to  move.  I  hope  to  hear 
a  response  of  the  oracle  first.  However,  I  think 
that  I  will  try  the  effect  of  your  talisman  on  the 
iron  horse  next  Saturday,  and  dismount  at  Tar- 
kiln  Hill.  Perhaps  your  sea  air  will  be  good  for 
me.  I  conveyed  your  invitation  to  Channing, 
but  he  apparently  will  not  come. 

Excuse  my  not  writing  earlier ;  but  I  had  not 
decided. 


2ET.38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  811 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  October  12,  1855. 

MR.  RICKETSON, —  I  fear  that  you  had  a 
lonely  and  disagreeable  ride  back  to  New  Bed 
ford  through  the  Carver  woods  and  so  on, — 
perhaps  in  the  rain,  too,  and  I  am  in  part  an 
swerable  for  it.  I  feel  very  much  in  debt  to 
you  and  your  family  for  the  pleasant  days  I 
spent  at  Brooklawn.  Tell  Arthur  and  Walton 1 
that  the  shells  which  they  gave  me  are  spread 
out,  and  make  quite  a  show  to  inland  eyes.  Me- 
thinks  I  still  hear  the  strains  of  the  piano,  the 
violin,  and  the  flageolet  blended  together.  Ex. 
cuse  me  for  the  noise  which  I  believe  drove  you 
to  take  refuge  in  the  shanty.  That  shanty  is 
indeed  a  favorable  place  to  expand  in,  which  I 
fear  I  did  not  enough  improve. 

On  my  way  through  Boston  I  inquired  for 
Gilpin's  works  at  Little,  Brown  &  Co.'s,  Mon 
roe's,  Ticknor's,  and  Burirliam's.  They  have  not 
got  them.  They  told  me  at  Little,  Brown  & 
Co.'s  that  his  works  (not  complete),  in  twelve 
vols.,  8vo,  were  imported  and  sold  in  this  coun 
try  five  or  six  years  ago  for  about  fifteen  dollars. 
Their  terms  for  importing  are  ten  per  cent  on 
the  cost.  I  copied  from  the  "  London  Catalogue 

1  Sons  of  Mr.  Rieketson;  the  second,  a  sculptor,  modeled 
the  medallion  head  of  Thoreau  engraved  for  this  book. 


312          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

of  Books,  1846-51,"  at  their  shop,  the  following- 
list  of  Gilpin's  Works  :  — 

Gilpin  (Wm.),  Dialogues  on  Various  Subjects.     8vo.     9s. 

Cadell. 

Essays  on  Picturesque  Subjects.     8vo.     15s.        Cadell. 

Exposition  of  the  New  Testament.    2  vols.    8vo.      16s. 

Longman. 

Forest   Scenery,  by  Sir  T.  D.  Lauder.     2  vols.     8vo. 

18s.  Smith  &  E. 

Lectures  on  the  Catechism.     12mo.     3s.  Qd. 

Longman. 

Lives  of  the  Reformers.     2  vols.     12mo.     8s. 

Rivington. 

Sermons  Illustrative  and  Practical.     8vo.     12s. 

Hatchard. 

Sermons  to  Country  Congregations.     4  vols.     8vo.     £1 

16s.  Longman. 

Tour  in  Cambridge,  Norfolk,  &c.     8vo.    18s.      Cadell. 

—  Tour  of  the  River  Wye.      12mo.      4s.     With   plates. 

8vo.     17s.  Cadell. 

Gilpin  (W.  S.  (?)  ),  Hints  on  Landscape  Gardening.     Royal 

8vo.     £1.  Cadell. 

Beside  these,  I  remember  to  have  read  one 
volume  on  "  Prints  ;  "  his  "  Southern  Tour " 
(1775)  ;  "  Lakes  of  Cumberland,"  two  vols. ; 
"  Highlands  of  Scotland  and  West  of  England," 
two  vols.  —  N.  B.  There  must  be  plates  in 
every  volume. 

I  still  see  an  image  of  those  Middleborough 
Ponds  in  my  mind's  eye,  —  broad  shallow  lakes, 
with  an  iron  mine  at  the  bottom,  —  compara 
tively  unvexed  by  sails,  —  only  by  Tom  Smith 


JET.  38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  313 

and  his  squaw,  Sepits,  "  Sharper."  I  find  my 
map  of  the  State  to  be  the  best  I  have  seen  of 
that  district.  It  is  a  question  whether  the  islands 
of  Long  Pond  or  Great  Quitticus  offer  the  great 
est  attractions  to  a  Lord  of  the  Isles.  That 
plant  which  I  found  on  the  shore  of  Long  Pond 
chances  to  be  a  rare  and  beautiful  flower,  —  the 
Sabattia  chloroides,  —  referred  to  Plymouth. 

In  a  Description  of  Middleborough  in  the 
Hist.  Coll.,  vol.  iii.,  1810,  signed  Nehemiah  Ben- 
net,  Middleborough,  1793,  it  is  said:  "There 
is  on  the  easterly  shore  of  Assawampsitt  Pond, 
on  the  shore  of  Betty's  Neck,  two  rocks  which 
have  curious  marks  thereon  (supposed  to  be  done 
by  the  Indians),  which  appear  like  the  steppings 
of  a  person  with  naked  feet  which  settled  into 
the  rocks ;  likewise  the  prints  of  a  hand  on  sev 
eral  places,  with  a  number  of  other  marks ;  also 
there  is  a  rock  011  a  high  hill  a  little  to  the  east 
ward  of  the  old  stone  fishing  wear,  where  there 
is  the  print  of  a  person's  hand  in  said  rock." 

It  would  be  well  to  look  at  those  rocks  again 
more  carefully ;  also  at  the  rock  on  the  hill. 

I  should  think  that  you  would  like  to  explore 
Sinpatuct  Pond  in  Rochester,  —  it  is  so  large 
and  near.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  ale- 
wives  used  to  ascend  to  it,  —  if  they  do  not  still, 
-both  from  Mattapoisett  and  through  Great 
Quitticus. 


314          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1855, 

There  will  be  no  trouble  about  the  chamber 
in  the  old  house,  though,  as  I  told  you,  Mr.  Hos- 
mer  may  expect  some  compensation  for  it.  He 
says,  "  Give  my  respects  to  Mr.  Ricketson,  and 
tell  him  that  I  cannot  be  at  a  large  expense  to 
preserve  an  antiquity  or  curiosity.  Nature  must 
do  its  work."  "  But,"  say  I,  "  he  asks  you  only 
not  to  assist  nature." 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  October  16,  1855. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  have  got  both  your 
letters  at  once.  You  must  not  think  Concord 
so  barren  a  place  when  Channing1  is  away. 
There  are  the  river  and  fields  left  yet ;  and  I, 
though  ordinarily  a  man  of  business,  should 
have  some  afternoons  and  evenings  to  spend 
with  you,  I  trust,  —  that  is,  if  you  could  stand 
so  much  of  me.  If  you  can  spend  your  time 
profitably  here,  or  without  ennui,  having  an  oc 
casional  ramble  or  tete-a-tete  with  one  of  the  na 
tives,  it  will  give  me  pleasure  to  have  you  in  the 
neighborhood.  You  see  I  am  preparing  you  for 
our  awful  unsocial  ways,  —  keeping  in  our  dens 
a  good  part  of  the  day,  —  sucking  our  claws  per 
haps.  But  then  we  make  a  religion  of  it,  and 
that  you  cannot  but  respect. 

1  Mr.  Channing-  had  gone,  October,  1855,  to  live  in  New  Bed 
ford,  and  help  edit  the  Mercury  there. 


JET.  38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  315 

If  you  know  the  taste  of  your  own  heart,  and 
like  it,  come  to  Concord,  and  I  '11  warrant  you 
enough  here  to  season  the  dish  with,  —  ay,  even 
though  Channing  and  Emerson  and  I  were  all 
away.  We  might  paddle  quietly  up  the  river. 
Then  there  are  one  or  two  more  ponds  to  be 
seen,  etc. 

I  should  very  much  enjoy  further  rambling 
with  you  in  your  vicinity,  but  must  postpone  it 
for  the  present.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  am  plan 
ning  to  get  seriously  to  work  after  these  long 
months  of  inefficiency  and  idleness.  I  do  not 
know  whether  you  are  haunted  by  any  such 
demon  which  puts  you  on  the  alert  to  pluck  the 
fruit  of  each  day  as  it  passes,  and  store  it  safely 
in  your  bin.  True,  it  is  well  to  live  abandonedly 
from  time  to  time  ;  but  to  our  working  hours 
that  must  be  as  the  spile  to  the  bung.  So  for  a 
long  season  I  must  enjoy  only  a  low  slanting 
gleam  in  my  mind's  eye  from  the  Middleborough 
Ponds  far  away. 

Methinks  I  am  getting  a  little  more  strength 
into  those  knees  of  mine ;  and,  for  my  part,  I 
believe  that  God  does  delight  in  the  strength  of 
a  man's  legs. 


316          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  December  9,  1855. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  Thank  you !  thank  you  for 
going  a-wooding  with  me,  —  and  enjoying  it,  — 
for  being  warmed  by  my  wood  fire.  I  have  in 
deed  enjoyed  it  much  alone.  I  see  how  I  might 
enjoy  it  yet  more  with  company,  —  how  we  might 
help  each  other  to  live.  And  to  be  admitted  to 
Nature's  hearth  costs  nothing.  None  is  ex 
cluded,  but  excludes  himself.  You  have  only 
to  push  aside  the  curtain. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  were  there  too. 
There  are  many  more  such  voyages,  and  longer 
ones,  to  be  made  on  that  river,  for  it  is  the  water 
of  life.  The  Ganges  is  nothing  to  it.  Observe 
its  reflections,  —  no  idea  but  is  familiar  to  it. 
That  river,  though  to  dull  eyes  it  seems  terres 
trial  wholly,  flows  through  Elysium.  What  pow 
ers  bathe  in  it  invisible  to  villagers !  Talk  of 
its  shallowness,  —  that  hay-carts  can  be  driven 
through  it  at  midsummer ;  its  depth  passeth  my 
understanding.  If,  forgetting  the  allurements 
of  the  world,  I  could  drink  deeply  enough  of  it ; 
if,  cast  adrift  from  the  shore,  I  could  with  com 
plete  integrity  float  on  it,  I  should  never  be  seen 
on  the  Mill-dam  again.1  If  there  is  any  depth  in 

1  The  centre  of  Concord  village,  where  the  post-office  and 
shops  are,  —  so  called  from  an  old  mill-dam  where  now  is  a 
street. 


XT.  38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  317 

me,  there  is  a  corresponding  depth  in  it.  It  is 
the  cold  blood  of  the  gods.  I  paddle  and  bathe 
in  their  artery. 

I  do  not  want  a  stick  of  wood  for  so  trivial  a 
use  as  to  burn  even,  but  they  get  it  over  night, 
and  carve  and  gild  it  that  it  may  please  my  eye. 
What  persevering  lovers  they  are !  What  infi 
nite  pains  to  attract  and  delight  us !  They  will 
supply  us  with  fagots  wrapped  in  the  daintiest 
packages,  and  freight  paid ;  sweet-scented  woods, 
and  bursting  into  flower,  and  resounding  as  if 
Orpheus  had  just  left  them,  —  these  shall  be  our 
fuel,  and  we  still  prefer  to  chaffer  with  the  wood- 
merchant  ! 

The  jug  we  found  still  stands  draining  bottom 
up  on  the  bank,  on  the  sunny  side  of  the  house. 
That  river, — who  shall  say  exactly  whence  it 
came,  and  whither  it  goes  ?  Does  aught  that 
flows  come  from  a  higher  source  ?  Many  things 
drift  downward  on  its  surface  which  would  en 
rich  a  man.  If  you  could  only  be  on  the  alert 
all  day,  and  every  day  !  And  the  nights  are  as 
long  as  the  days. 

Do  you  not  think  you  could  contrive  thus  to 
get  woody  fibre  enough  to  bake  your  wheaten 
bread  with?  Would  you  not  perchance  have 
tasted  the  sweet  crust  of  another  kind  of  bread 
in  the  mean  while,  which  ever  hangs  ready  baked 
on  the  bread-fruit  trees  of  the  world  ? 


318          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

Talk  of  burning  your  smoke  after  the  wood 
has  been  consumed !  There  is  a  far  more  impor 
tant  and  warming  heat,  commonly  lost,  which 
precedes  the  burning  of  the  wood.  It  is  the 
smoke  of  industry,  which  is  incense.  I  had  been 
so  thoroughly  warmed  in  body  and  spirit,  that 
when  at  length  my  fuel  was  housed,  I  came  near 
selling  it  to  the  ash-man,  as  if  I  had  extracted 
all  its  heat. 

You  should  have  been  here  to  help  me  get  in 
my  boat.  The  last  time  I  used  it,  November 
27th,  paddling  up  the  Assabet,  I  saw  a  great 
round  pine  log  sunk  deep  in  the  water,  and  with 
labor  got  it  aboard.  When  I  was  floating  this 
home  so  gently,  it  occurred  to  me  why  I  had 
found  it.  It  was  to  make  wheels  with  to  roll  my 
boat  into  winter  quarters  upon.  So  I  sawed  off 
two  thick  rollers  from  one  end,  pierced  them  for 
wheels,  and  then  of  a  joist  which  I  had  found 
drifting  on  the  river  in  the  summer  I  made  an 
axletree,  and  011  this  I  rolled  my  boat  out. 

Miss  Mary  Emerson  l  is  here,  —  the  youngest 
person  in  Concord,  though  about  eighty,  —  and 
the  most  apprehensive  of  a  genuine  thought; 
earnest  to  know  of  your  inner  life  ;  most  stimu- 

1  The  aunt  of  R.  W.  Emerson,  then  eighty-one  years  old,  an 
admirer  of  Thoreau,  as  her  notes  to  him  show.  For  an  account 
of  her  see  Emerson's  Lectures  and  Biographical  Sketches,  pp. 
371-404. 


JET.  38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  319 

lating  society ;  and  exceedingly  witty  withal. 
She  says  they  called  her  old  when  she  was  young, 
and  she  has  never  grown  any  older.  I  wish  you 
could  see  her. 

My  books 1  did  not  arrive  till  November  30th, 
the  cargo  of  the  Asia  having  been  complete  when 
they  reached  Liverpool.  I  have  arranged  them 
in  a  case  which  I  made  in  the  mean  while,  partly 
of  river  boards.  I  have  not  dipped  far  into  the 
new  ones  yet.  One  is  splendidly  bound  and  il 
luminated.  They  are  in  English,  French,  Latin, 
Greek,  and  Sanscrit.  I  have  not  made  out  the 
significance  of  this  godsend  yet. 

Farewell,  and  bright  dreams  to  you ! 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  December  25,  1855. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  Though  you  have  not 
shown  your  face  here,  I  trust  that  you  did  not 
interpret  my  last  note  to  my  disadvantage.  I 
remember  that,  among  other  things,  I  wished  to 
break  it  to  you,  that,  owing  to  engagements,  I 
should  not  be  able  to  show  you  so  much  atten 
tion  as  I  could  wish,  or  as  you  had  shown  to  me. 
How  we  did  scour  over  the  country !  I  hope 
your  horse  will  live  as  long  as  one  which  I  hear 

1  The  books  on  India,  Egypt,  etc.,  sent  by  Cholmondeley. 
See  p.  321.  They  are  now  divided  between  the  Concord 
Public  Library  and  the  libraries  of  Alcott,  Blake,  Emerson, 
Sanborn,  etc. 


320          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1855, 

just  died  in  the  south  of  France  at  the  age  of 
forty.  Yet  I  had  no  doubt  you  would  get  quite 
enough  of  me.  Do  not  give  it  up  so  easily.  The 
old  house  is  still  empty,  and  Hosmer  is  easy  to 
treat  with. 

Channing  was  here  about  ten  days  ago.  I 
told  him  of  my  visit  to  you,  and  that  he  too  must 
go  and  see  you  and  your  country.1  This  may 
have  suggested  his  writing  to  you. 

That  island  lodge,  especially  for  some  weeks 
in  a  summer,  and  new  explorations  in  your  vicin 
ity,  are  certainly  very  alluring ;  but  sucli  are  my 
engagements  to  myself,  that  I  dare  not  promise 
to  wend  your  way,  but  will  for  the  present  only 
heartily  thank  you  for  your  kind  and  generous 
offer.  When  my  vacation  comes,  then  look  out. 

My  legs  have  grown  considerably  stronger, 
and  that  is  all  that  ails  mea 

But  I  wish  now  above  all  to  inform  you,  — 
though  I  suppose  you  will  not  be  particularly 
interested,  —  that  Cholmondeley  has  gone  to  the 
Crimea,  "  a  complete  soldier,"  with  a  design, 
when  he  returns,  if  he  ever  returns,  to  buy  a 
cottage  in  the  South  of  England,  and  tempt  me 
over  ;  but  that,  before  going,  he  busied  himself 
in  buying,  and  has  caused  to  be  forwarded  to  me 

1  Mr.  Channing1  became  a  frequent  visitor  at  Brooklawn,  in 
the  years  of  his  residence  at  New  Bedford,  1856-58.  See 
p.  324. 


JET.  38.]  TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  321 

by  Chapman,  a  royal  gift,  in  the  shape  of  twenty- 
one  distinct  works  (one  in  nine  volumes,  — 
forty-four  volumes  in  all),  almost  exclusively  re 
lating  to  ancient  Hindoo  literature,  and  scarcely 
one  of  them  to  be  bought  in  America.1  I  am 
familiar  with  many  of  them,  and  know  how  to 
prize  them.  I  send  you  information  of  this  as 
I  might  of  the  birth  of  a  child. 

Please  remember  me  to  all  your  family. 

1  These  books  were  ordered  by  Cholmondeley  in  London, 
and  sent  to  Boston  just  as  he  was  starting-  for  the  Crimean 
war,  in  October,  1855,  calling  them  "  a  nest  of  Indian  books." 
They  included  Mill's  History  of  British  India,  several  transla 
tions  of  the  sacred  books  of  India,  and  one  of  them  in  Sanscrit ; 
the  works  of  Bunsen,  so  far  as  then  published,  and  other  valu 
able  books.  In  the  ndte  accompanying  this  gift,  Cholmonde 
ley  said,  "  I  think  I  never  found  so  much  kindness  in  all  my 
travels  as  in  your  country  of  New  England."  In  return, 
Thoreau  sent  his  English  friend,  in  1857,  his  own  Week,  Em 
erson's  poems,  Walt  Whitman's  Leaves  of  Grass,  and  F.  L. 
Olmsted's  book  on  the  Southern  States  (then  preparing  for 
the  secession  which  they  attempted  four  years  later).  This 
was  perhaps  the  first  copy  of  Whitman  seen  in  England,  and 
when  Cholmondeley  began  to  read  it  to  his  stepfather,  Rev.  Z. 
Macaulay,  at  Hodnet,  that  clergyman  declared  he  would  not 
hear  it,  and  threatened  to  throw  it  in  the  fire.  On  reading  the 
Week  (he  had  received  Walden  from  Thoreau  when  first  in 
America),  Cholmondeley  wrote  me,  "Would  you  tell  dear 
Thoreau  that  the  lines  I  admire  so  much  in  his  Week  begin 
thus :  — 

'  Low-anchored  cloud, 
Newfoundland  air,'  etc. 

In  my  mind  the  best  thing  he  ever  wrote," 


322          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1856, 

TO   DANIEL   RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  March  5,  1856. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  have  been  out  of  town,  else  I 
should  have  acknowledged  your  letter  before. 
Though  not  in  the  best  mood  for  writing,  I  will 
say  what  I  can  now.  You  plainly  have  a  rare, 
though  a  cheap,  resource  in  your  shanty.  Per 
haps  the  time  will  come  when  every  country-seat 
will  have  one,  —  when  every  country-seat  will 
be  one.  I  would  advise  you  to  see  that  shanty 
business  out,  though  you  go  shanty-mad.  Work 
your  vein  till  it  is  exhausted,  or  conducts  you 
to  a  broader  one  ;  so  that  Channing  shall  stand 
before  your  shanty,  and  sa^,  "  That  is  your 
house." 

This  has  indeed  been  a  grand  winter  for  me, 
and  for  all  of  us.  I  am  not  considering  how 
much  I  have  enjoyed  it.  What  matters  it  how 
happy  or  unhappy  we  have  been,  if  we  have 
minded  our  business  and  advanced  our  affairs. 
I  have  made  it  a  part  of  my  business  to  wade  in 
the  snow  and  take  the  measure  of  the  ice.  The 
ice  on  our  pond  was  just  two  feet  thick  on  the 
first  of  March  ;  and  I  have  to-day  been  survey 
ing  a  wood-lot,  where  I  sank  about  two  feet  at 
every  step. 

It  is  high  time  that  you,  fanned  by  the  warm 
breezes  of  the  Gulf  Stream,  had  begun  to  "lay" 


JST.  38.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  323 

for  even  the  Concord  hens  have,  though  one 
wonders  where  they  find  the  raw  material  of 
egg-shell  here.  Beware  how  you  put  off  your 
laying  to  any  later  spring,  else  your  cackling 
will  not  have  the  inspiring  early  spring  sound. 

As  for  visiting  you  in  April,  though  I  am 
inclined  enough  to  take  some  more  rambles  in 
your  neighborhood,  especially  by  the  seaside,  I 
dare  not  engage  myself,  nor  allow  you  to  expect 
me.  The  truth  is,  I  have  my  enterprises  now  as 
ever,  at  which  I  tug  with  ridiculous  feebleness, 
but  admirable  perseverance,  and  cannot  say  when 
I  shall  be  sufficiently  fancy-free  for  such  an  ex 
cursion. 

You  have  done  well  to  write  a  lecture  on 
Cowper.  In  the  expectation  of  getting  you  to 
read  it  here,  I  applied  to  the  curators  of  our  Ly 
ceum  ;  1  but,  alas,  our  Lyceum  has  been  a  failure 
this  winter  for  want  of  funds.  It  ceased  some 
weeks  since,  with  a  debt,  they  tell  me,  to  be  car 
ried  over  to  the  next  year's  account.  Only  one 
more  lecture  is  to  be  read  by  a  Signor  Some 
body,  an  Italian,  paid  for  by  private  subscription, 
as  a  deed  of  charity  to  the  lecturer.  They  are 
not  rich  enough  to  offer  you  your  expenses  even, 
though  probably  a  month  or  two  ago  they  would 
have  been  glad  of  the  chance. 

1  The  Concord  Lyceum,  founded  in  1829,  and  still  extant, 
though  not  performing  its  original  function  of  lectures  and 
debates.  See  pp.  61,  185,  etc. 


324          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

However,  the  old  house  has  not  failed  yet. 
That  offers  you  lodging  for  an  indefinite  time 
after  you  get  into  it ;  and  in  the  mean  while  I 
offer  you  bed  and  board  in  my  father's  house,  — 
always  excepting  hair-pillows  and  new-fangled 
bedding. 

Remember  me  to  your  family. 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT    NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  March  27,  1856. 

FEIEND  RICKETSON,  -  -  I  was  surprised  to 
hear  the  other  day  that  Channing  was  in  New 
Bedford.  When  he  was  here  last  (in  December, 
I  think),  he  said,  like  himself,  in  answer  to  my 
inquiry  where  he  lived,  "  that  he  did  not  know 
the  name  of  the  place  ;  "  so  it  has  remained  in  a 
degree  of  obscurity  to  me.  I  am  rejoiced  to 
hear  that  you  are  getting  on  so  bravely  with 
him  and  his  verses.  He  and  I,  as  you  know 
have  been  old  cronies,1  - 

"  Fed  the  same  flock,  by  fountain,  shade,  and  rill, 
Together  both,  ere  the  high  lawns  appeared 
Under  the  opening  eyelids  of  the  morn, 
We  drove  afield,  and  both  together  beared,"  etc. 

"  But  O,  the  heavy  change,"   now  he  is  gone. 

1  Ellery^  Channing  is  mentioned,  though  not  by  name,  in  the 
Week  (pp.~~21l7l57),  and  in  Walden  (p.  414).  He  was  the 
comrade  of  Thoreau  in  Berkshire,  and  on  the  Hudson,  in  New 
Hampshire,  Canada,  and  Cape  Cod,  and  in  many  rambles  nearer 
Concord.  He  was  also  a  companion  of  Hawthorne  in  his  river 
voyages,  as  mentioned  in  the  Mosses. 


i 


jsT.38.]         TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  325 

The  Charming  you  have  seen  and  described  is 
the  real  Simon  Pure.  You  have  seen  him. 
Many  a  good  ramble  may  you  have  together ! 
You  will  see  in  him  still  more  of  the  same  kind 
to  attract  and  to  puzzle  you.  How  to  serve  him 
most  effectually  has  long  been  a  problem  with 
his  friends.  Perhaps  it  is  left  for  you  to  solve 
it.  I  suspect  that  the  most  that  you  or  any  one 
can  do  for  him  is  to  appreciate  his  genius,  — 
to  buy  and  read,  and  cause  others  to  buy  and 
read  his  poems.  That  is  the  hand  which  he 
has  put  forth  to  the  world,  —  take  hold  of  that. 
Review  them  if  you  can,  —  perhaps  take  the 
risk  of  publishing  something  more  which  he  may 
write.  Your  knowledge  of  Cowper  will  help 
you  to  know  Charming.  He  will  accept  sym 
pathy  and  aid,  but  he  will  not  bear  questioning, 
unless  the  aspects  of  the  sky  are  particularly 
auspicious.  He  will  ever  be  "  reserved  and 
enigmatic,"  and  you  must  deal  with  him  at 
arm's  length.  I  have  no  secrets  to  tell  you 
concerning  him,  and  do  not  wish  to  call  obvious 
excellences  and  defects  by  far-fetched  names. 
Nor  need  I  suggest  how  witty  and  poetic  he  is, 
and  what  an  inexhaustible  fund  of  good  fellow 
ship  you  will  find  in  him. 


326          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  March  13,  1856. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  It  is  high  time  I  sent  you  a 
word.  I  have  not  heard  from  Harrisburg  since 
offering  to  go  there,  and  have  not  been  invited 
to  lecture  anywhere  else  the  past  winter.  So 
you  see  I  am  fast  growing  rich.  This  is  quite 
right,  for  such  is  my  relation  to  the  lecture-goers, 
I  should  be  surprised  and  alarmed  if  there  were 
any  great  call  for  me.  I  confess  that  I  am  con 
siderably  alarmed  even  when  I  hear  that  an  indi 
vidual  wishes  to  meet  me,  for  my  experience 
teaches  me  that  we  shall  thus  only  be  made  cer 
tain  of  a  mutual  strangeness,  which  otherwise  we 
might  never  have  been  aware  of. 

I  have  not  yet  recovered  strength  enough  for 
such  a  walk  as  you  propose,  though  pretty  well 
again  for  circumscribed  rambles  and  chamber 
work.  Even  now,  I  am  probably  the  greatest 
walker  in  Concord,  —  to  its  disgrace  be  it  said. 
I  remember  our  walks  and  talks  and  sailing  in 
the  past  with  great  satisfaction,  and  trust  that 
we  shall  have  more  of  them  erelong,  —  have  more 
woodings-up,  —  for  even  in  the  spring  we  must 
still  seek  "  fuel  to  maintain  our  fires." 

As  you  suggest,  we  would  fain  value  one  an 
other  for  what  we  are  absolutely,  rather  than 
relatively.  How  will  this  do  for  a  symbol  of 
sympathy  ? 


affr.38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  327 


As  for  compliments,  even  the  stars  praise  me, 
and  I  praise  them.  They  and  I  sometimes  be 
long  to  a  mutual  admiration  society.  Is  it  not 
so  with  you  ?  I  know  you  of  old.  Are  you  not 
tough  and  earnest  to  be  talked  at,  praised,  or 
blamed  ?  Must  you  go  out  of  the  room  because 
you  are  the  subject  of  conversation?  Where 
will  you  go  to,  pray  ?  Shall  we  look  into  the 
"  Letter  Writer  "  to  see  what  compliments  are 
admissible  ?  I  am  not  afraid  of  praise,  for  I  have 
practiced  it  on  myself.  As  for  my  deserts,  I 
never  took  an  account  of  that  stock,  and  in  this 
connection  care  not  whether  I  am  deserving  or 
not.  When  I  hear  praise  coming,  do  I  not  ele 
vate  and  arch  myself  to  hear  it  like  the  sky,  and 
as  impersonally  ?  Think  I  appropriate  any  of  it 
to  my  weak  legs  ?  No.  Praise  away  till  all  is 
blue. 

I  see  by  the  newspapers  that  the  season  for 
making  sugar  is  at  hand.  Now  is  the  time, 
whether  you  be  rock,  or  white-maple,  or  hickory. 
I  trust  that  you  have  prepared  a  store  of  sap- 
tubs  and  sumach-spouts,  and  invested  largely  in 
kettles.  Early  the  first  frosty  morning,  tap  your 
maples,  —  the  sap  will  not  run  in  summer,  you 


328          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

know.  It  matters  not  how  little  juice  you  get, 
if  you  get  all  you  can,  and  boil  it  down.  I  made 
just  one  crystal  of  sugar  once,  one  twentieth  of 
an  inch  cube,  out  of  a  pumpkin,  and  it  suf 
ficed.  Though  the  yield  be  no  greater  than 
that,  this  is  not  less  the  season  for  it,  and  it  will 
be  not  the  less  sweet,  nay,  it  will  be  infinitely 
the  sweeter. 

Shall,  then,  the  maple  yield  sugar,  and  not 
man  ?  Shall  the  farmer  be  thus  active,  and  surely 
have  so  much  sugar  to  show  for  it,  before  this 
very  March  is  gone,  —  while  I  read  the  newspa 
per  ?  "While  he  works  in  his  sugar-camp  let  me 
work  in  mine,  —  for  sweetness  is  in  me,  and  to 
sugar  it  shall  come,  —  it  shall  not  all  go  to  leaves 
and  wood.  Am  I  not  a  sugar-maple  man,  then  ? 
Boil  down  the  sweet  sap  which  the  spring  causes 
to  flow  within  you.  Stop  not  at  syrup,  —  go 
on  to  sugar,  though  you  present  the  world  with 
but  a  single  crystal,  —  a  crystal  not  made  from 
trees  in  your  yard,  but  from  the  new  life  that 
stirs  in  your  pores.  Cheerfully  skim  your  kettle, 
and  watch  it  set  and  crystallize,  making  a  holi 
day  of  it  if  you  will.  Heaven  will  be  propitious 
to  you  as  to  him. 

Say  to  the  farmer,  There  is  your  crop ;  here 
is  mine.  Mine  is  a  sugar  to  sweeten  sugar  with. 
If  you  will  listen  to  me,  I  will  sweeten  your  whole 
load,  —  your  whole  life. 


-EX.  38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  329 

Then  will  the  callers  ask,  Where  is  Blake  ? 
He  is  in  his  sugar-camp  on  the  mountain-side. 
Let  the  world  await  him.  Then  will  the  little 
boys  bless  you,  and  the  great  boys  too,  for  such 
sugar  is  the  origin  of  many  condiments,  —  Blak- 
ians  in  the  shops  of  Worcester,  of  new  form, 
with  their  mottoes  wrapped  up  in  them.  Shall 
men  taste  only  the  sweetness  of  the  maple  and 
the  cane  the  coming  year  ? 

A  walk  over  the  crust  to  Asnybumskit,  stand 
ing  there  in  its  inviting  simplicity,  is  tempting 
to  think  of,  —  making  a  fire  on  the  snow  under 
some  rock  !  The  very  poverty  of  outward  na 
ture  implies  an  inward  wealth  in  the  walker. 
What  a  Golconda  is  he  conversant  with,  thaw 
ing  his  fingers  over  such  a  blaze  !  But  — 
but- 

Have  you  read  the  new  poem,  "  The  Angel  in 
the  House  "  ?  Perhaps  you  will  find  it  good  for 
you. 

TO   HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  May  21,  1856. 

MK.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  not  for  a  long  time 
been  putting  such  thoughts  together  as  I  should 
like  to  read  to  the  company  you  speak  of.  I 
have  enough  of  that  sort  to  say,  or  even  read,  but 
not  time  now  to  arrange  it.  Something  I  have 
prepared  might  prove  for  their  entertainment  or 


330          FRIENDS  AND   FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

refreshment  perchance ;  but  I  would  not  like  to 
have  a  hat  carried  round  for  it.  I  have  just 
been  reading  some  papers  to  see  if  they  would 
do  for  your  company ;  •  but  though  I  thought 
pretty  well  of  them  as  long  as  I  read  them  to 
myself,  when  I  got  an  auditor  to  try  them  on,  I 
felt  that  they  would  not  answer.  How  could  I 
let  you  drum  up  a  company  to  hear  them  ?  In 
fine,  what  I  have  is  either  too  scattered  or  loosely 
arranged,  or  too  light,  or  else  is  too  scientific  and 
matter  of  fact  (I  run  a  good  deal  into  that  of 
late)  for  so  hungry  a  company. 

I  am  still  a  learner,  not  a  teacher,  feeding 
somewhat  omnivorously,  browsing  both  stalk  and 
leaves ;  but  I  shall  perhaps  be  enabled  to  speak 
with  the  more  precision  and  authority  by  and 
by,  —  if  philosophy  and  sentiment  are  not  buried 
under  a  multitude  of  details. 

I  do  not  refuse,  but  accept  your  invitation, 
only  changing  the  time.  I  consider  myself  in 
vited  to  Worcester  once  for  all,  and  many  thanks 
to  the  inviter.  As  for  the  Harvard  excursion,1 
will  you  let  me  suggest  another  ?  Do  you  and 

1  This  was  the  town  of  Harvard,  not  the  college.  Perhaps 
the  excursion  was  to  visit  Fruitlands,  where  Alcott  and  Lane 
had  established  their  short-lived  community,  in  a  beautiful 
spot  near  Still  River,  an  affluent  of  the  Nashua,  and  half  way 
from  Concord  to  Wachusett.  "  Asnebumskit,"  mentioned  in 
a  former  letter,  is  the  highest  hill  near  Worcester,  as  "  Nob- 
scot  "  is  the  highest  near  Concord.  Both  have  Indian  names. 


JET.  38.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  331 

Brown  come  to  Concord  on  Saturday,  if  the 
weather  promises  well,  and  spend  the  Sunday 
here  on  the  river  or  hills,  or  both.  So  we  shall 
save  some  of  our  money  (which  is  of  next  impor 
tance  to  our  souls),  and  lose  —  I  do  not  know 
what.  You  say  you  talked  of  coming  here  be 
fore  ;  now  do  it.  I  do  not  propose  this  because  I 
think  that  I  am  worth  your  spending  time  with, 
but  because  I  hope  that  we  may  prove  flint  and 
steel  to  one  another.  It  is  at  most  only  an  hour's 
ride  farther,  and  you  can  at  any  rate  do  what 
you  please  when  you  get  here. 

Then  we  will  see  if  we  have  any  apology  to 
offer  for  our  existence.  So  come  to  Concord,  — 
come  to  Concord,  —  come  to  Concord !  or  —  your 
suit  shall  be  defaulted. 

As  for  the  dispute  about  solitude  and  society, 
any  comparison  is  impertinent.  It  is  an  idling 
down  on  the  plain  at  the  base  of  a  mountain,  in 
stead  of  climbing  steadily  to  its  top.  Of  course 
you  will  be  glad  of  all  the  society  you  can  get  to 
go  up  with.  Will  you  go  to  glory  with  me  ?  is  the 
burden  of  the  song.  I  love  society  so  much  that 
I  swallowed  it  all  at  a  gulp,  —  that  is,  all  that 
came  in  my  way.  It  is  not  that  we  love  to  be 
alone,  but  that  we  love  to  soar,  and  when  we  do 
soar,  the  company  grows  thinner  and  thinner  till 
there  is  none  at  all.  It  is  either  the  Tribune  1  on 

1  The  New  York  newspaper. 


332  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1856, 

the  plain,  a  sermon  on  the  mount,  or  a  very  pri 
vate  ecstasy  still  higher  up.  We  are  not  the  less 
to  aim  at  the  summits,  though  the  multitude  does 
not  ascend  them.  Use  all  the  society  that  will 
abet  you.  But  perhaps  I  do  not  enter  into  the 
spirit  of  your  talk. 

In  the  spring  of  1856,  Mr.  Alcott,  then  living 
in  Walpole,  N.  H.,  visited  Concord,  and  while 
there  suggested  to  Thoreau  that  the  upper  valley 
of  the  Connecticut,  in  which  Walpole  lies,  was 
good  walking-ground,  and  that  he  would  be  glad 
to  see  him  there.  When  autumn  began  to  hover 
in  the  distance,  Thoreau  recalled  this  invitation, 
and  sent  the  letter  below. 

TO  BRONSON  ALCOTT  (AT  WALPOLE,  N.  H.). 

CONCORD,  September  1,  1856. 

MR.  ALCOTT,  —  I  remember  that,  in  the 
spring,  you  invited  me  to  visit  you.  I  feel  in 
clined  to  spend  a  day  or  two  with  you  and  on 
your  hills  at  this  season,  returning,  perhaps,  by 
way  of  Brattleboro.  What  if  I  should  take  the 
cars  for  Walpole  next  Friday  morning  ?  Are 
you  at  home  ?  And  will  it  be  convenient  and 
agreeable  to  you  to  see  me  then  ?  I  will  await 
an  answer. 

I  am  but  poor  company,  and  it  will  not  be 
worth  the  while  to  put  yourself  out  on  my  ac- 


2BT.39.]  TO  BRONSON  ALCOTT.  333 

count ;  yet  from  time  to  time  I  have  some 
thoughts  which  would  be  the  better  for  an  air 
ing.  I  also  wish  to  get  some  hints  from  Sep 
tember  on  the  Connecticut  to  help  me  under 
stand  that  season  on  the  Concord ;  to  snuff  the 
musty  fragrance  of  the  decaying  year  in  the 
primitive  woods.  There  is  considerable  cellar- 
room  in  my  nature  for  such  stores ;  a  whole  row 
of  bins  waiting  to  be  filled,  before  I  can  cele 
brate  my  Thanksgiving.  Mould  is  the  richest 
of  soils,  yet  /  am  not  mould.  It  will  always  be 
found  that  one  flourishing  institution  exists  and 
battens  on  another  mouldering  one.  The  Pres 
ent  itself  is  parasitic  to  this  extent. 
Your  fellow-traveler, 

HENKY  D.  THOREAU. 

As  fortune  would  have  it,  Mr.  Alcott  was 
then  making  his  arrangements  for  a  conversa 
tional  tour  in  the  vicinity  of  New  York ;  but  he 
renewed  the  invitation  for  himself,  while  repeat 
ing  it  in  the  name  of  Mrs.  Alcott  and  his  daugh 
ters.  Thoreau  made  the  visit,  I  believe,  and 
some  weeks  later,  at  the  suggestion  of  Mr.  Al 
cott,  he  was  asked  by  Marcus  Spring  of  New 
York  to  read  lectures  and  survey  their  estate  for 
a  community  at  Perth  Amboy,  N.  J.,  in  which 
Mr.  Spring  and  his  friends,  the  Birneys,  Welds, 
Grimkes,  etc.,  had  united  for  social  and  educa- 


334          FRIENDS   AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

tional  purposes.  It  was  a  colony  of  radical  opin 
ions  and  old-fashioned  culture;  the  Grimkes 
having  been  bred  in  Charleston,  S.  C.,  which 
they  left  by  reason  of  their  opposition  to  negro 
slavery,  and  the  elder  Birney  having  held  slaves 
in  Alabama  until  his  conscience  bade  him  eman 
cipate  them,  after  which  he,  too,  could  have  no 
secure  home  among  slaveholders.  He  was  the 
first  presidential  candidate  of  the  voting  Aboli 
tionists,  as  Lincoln  was  the  last ;  and  his  friend, 
Theodore  Weld,  who  married  Miss  Grimke,  had 
been  one  of  the  early  apostles  of  emancipation 
in  Ohio.  Their  circle  at  Eagleswood  appealed 
to  Thoreau' s  sense  of  humor,  and  is  described  by 
him  in  the  next  letter. 

In  October,  1856,  Mr.  Spring,  whom  Mr.  Al- 
cott  was  then  visiting,  wrote  to  Thoreau  inviting 
him  to  come  to  Eagleswood,  give  lectures,  and 
survey  two  hundred  acres  of  land  belonging  to 
the  community,  laying  out  streets  and  making  a 
map  of  the  proposed  village.  Thoreau  accepted 
the  proposal,  and  soon  after  wrote  the  following 
letter,  which  Miss  Thoreau  submitted  to  Mr. 
Emerson  for  publication,  with  other  letters,  in 
the  volume  of  1865 ;  but  he  returned  it,  inscribed 
"Not  printable  at  present."  The  lapse  of  time 
has  removed  this  objection. 


SIT.  39.]  TO  SOPHIA    THOREAU.  335 


TO   SOPHIA   THOREAU. 

[Direct]  EAGLES  WOOD,  PERTH  AMBOY,  N.  J., 

Saturday  eve,  November  1,  1856. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  I  have  hardly  had  time  and 
repose  enough  to  write  to  you  before.  I  spent 
the  afternoon  of  Friday  (it  seems  some  months 
ago)  in  Worcester',  but  failed  to  see  [Harrison] 
Blake,  he  having  "  gone  to  the  horse-race "  in 
Boston ;  to  atone  for  which  I  have  just  received 
a  letter  from  him,  asking  me  to  stop  at  Worces 
ter  and  lecture  on  my  return.  I  called  on 
[Theo.]  Brown  and  [T.  W.]  Higginson ;  in  the 
evening  came  by  way  of  Norwich  to  New  York 
in  the  steamer  Commonwealth,  and,  though  it 
was  so  windy  inland,  had  a  perfectly  smooth  pas 
sage,  and  about  as  good  a  sleep  as  usually  at 
home.  Reached  New  York  about  seven  A.  M., 
too  late  for  the  John  Potter  (there  was  n't  any 
Jonas),  so  I  spent  the  forenoon  there,  called  on 
Greeley  (who  was  not  in),  met  [F.  A.  T.]  Bel- 
lew  in  Broadway  and  walked  into  his  workshop, 
read  at  the  Astor  Library,  etc.  I  arrived  here, 
about  thirty  miles  from  New  York,  about  five 
p.  M.  Saturday,  in  company  with  Miss  E.  Pea- 
body,  who  was  returning  in  the  same  covered 
wagon  from  the  Landing  to  Eagleswood,  which 
last  place  she  has  just  left  for  the  winter. 

This  is  a  queer  place.    There  is  one  large  long 


336  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1856, 

stone  building,  which  cost  some  forty  thousand 
dollars,  in  which  I  do  not  know  exactly  who  or 
how  many  work  (one  or  two  familiar  faces  and 
more  familiar  names  have  turned  up),  a  few 
shops  and  offices,  an  old  farmhouse,  and  Mr. 
Spring's  perfectly  private  residence,  within 
twenty  rods  of  the  main  building.  The  city  of 
Perth  Amboy  is  about  as  big  as  Concord,  and 
Eagleswood  is  one  and  a  quarter  miles  south 
west  of  it,  on  the  Bay  side.  The  central  fact 
here  is  evidently  Mr.  [Theodore]  Weld's  school, 
recently  established,  around  which  various  other 
things  revolve.  Saturday  evening  I  went  to  the 
schoolroom,  hall,  or  what  not,  to  see  the  children 
and  their  teachers  and  patrons  dance.  Mr. 
Weld,  a  kind-looking  man  with  a  long  white 
beard,  danced  with  them,  and  Mr.  [E.  J.]  Cut 
ler,  his  assistant  (lately  from  Cambridge,  who  is 
acquainted  with  Sanborn),  Mr.  Spring,  and  oth 
ers.  This  Saturday  evening  dance  is  a  regular 
thing,  and  it  is  thought  something  strange  if  you 
don't  attend.  They  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
want  society ! 

Sunday  forenoon  I  attended  a  sort  of  Quaker 
meeting  at  the  same  place  (the  Quaker  aspect 
and  spirit  prevail  here,  —  Mrs.  Spring  says, 
"Does  thee  not?"),  where  it  was  expected  that 
the  Spirit  would  move  me  (I  having  been  previ 
ously  spoken  to  about  it)  ;  and  it,  or  something 


MT.  39.]  TO  SOPHIA    THOREAU.  337 

else,  did,  —  an  inch  or  so.  I  said  just  enough 
to  set  them  a  little  by  the  ears  and  make  it 
lively.  I  had  excused  myself  by  saying  that  I 
could  not  adapt  myself  to  a  particular  audience ; 
for  all  the  speaking  and  lecturing  here  have  ref 
erence  to  the  children,  who  are  far  the  greater 
part  of  the  audience,  and  they  are  not  so  bright 
as  New  England  children.  Imagine  them  sit 
ting  close  to  the  wall,  all  around  a  hall,  with  old 
Quaker-looking  men  and  women  here  and  there. 
There  sat  Mrs.  Weld  [Grimke]  and  her  sister, 
two  elderly  gray-headed  ladies,  the  former  in  ex 
treme  Bloomer  costume,  which  was  what  you 
may  call  remarkable ;  Mr.  Arnold  Buffum,  with 
broad  face  and  a  great  white  beard,  looking  like 
a  pier-head  made  of  the  cork-tree  with  the  bark 
on,  as  if  he  could  buffet  a  considerable  wave ; 
James  G.  Birney,  formerly  candidate  for  the 
presidency,  with  another  particularly  white  head 
and  beard ;  Edward  Palmer,  the  anti-money  man 
(for  whom  communities  were  made),  with  his 
ample  beard  somewhat  grayish.  Some  of  them, 
I  suspect,  are  very  worthy  people.  Of  course 
you  are  wondering  to  what  extent  all  these  make 
one  family,  and  to  what  extent  twenty.  Mrs. 
Kirkland l  (and  this  a  name  only  to  me)  I  saw. 
She  has  just  bought  a  lot  here.  They  all  know 

1  Mrs.  Caroline  Kirkland,  wife  of  Prof.  William  Kirkland, 
then  of  New  York,  —  a  writer  of  wit  and  fame  at  that  time. 


338          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

more  about  your  neighbors  and  acquaintances 
than  you  suspected. 

On  Monday  evening  I  read  the  Moose  story 
to  the  children,  to  their  satisfaction.  Ever  since 
I  have  been  constantly  engaged  in  surveying 
Eagleswood,  —  through  woods,  salt  marshes,  and 
along  the  shore,  dodging  the  tide,  through 
bushes,  mud,  and  beggar  ticks,  having  no  time 
to  look  up  or  think  where  I  am.  (It  takes  ten 
or  fifteen  minutes  before  each  meal  to  pick  the 
beggar  ticks  out  of  my  clothes ;  burrs  and  the 
rest  are  left,  and  rents  mended  at  the  first  con 
venient  opportunity.)  I  shall  be  engaged  per 
haps  as  much  longer.  Mr.  Spring  wants  me  to 
help  him  about  setting  out  an  orchard  and  vine 
yard,  Mr.  Birney  asks  me  to  survey  a  small 
piece  for  him,  and  Mr.  Alcott,  who  has  just  come 
down  here  for  the  third  Sunday,  says  that  Gree- 
ley  (I  left  my  name  for  him)  invites  him  and 
me  to  go  to  his  home  with  him  next  Saturday 
morning  and  spend  the  Sunday. 

It  seems  a  twelvemonth  since  I  was  not  here, 
but  I  hope  to  get  settled  deep  into  my  den  again 
erelong.  The  hardest  thing  to  find  here  is  soli 
tude —  and  Concord.  I  am  at  Mr.  Spring's 
house.  Both  he  and  she  and  their  family  are 
quite  agreeable. 

I  want  you  to  write  to  me  immediately  (just 
left  off  to  talk  French  with  the  servant  man), 


*ST.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  339 

and  let  father  and  mother  put  in  a  word.     To 
them  and  to  Aunts,  love  from 

HENRY. 


The  date  of  this  visit  to  Eagleswood  is  worthy 
of  note,  because  in  that  November  Thoreau 
made  the  acquaintance  of  the  late  Walt  Whit 
man,  in  whom  he  ever  after  took  a  deep  interest. 
Accompanied  by  Mr.  Alcott,  he  called  on  Whit 
man,  then  living  at  Brooklyn ;  and  I  remember 
the  calm  enthusiasm  with  which  they  both  spoke 
of  Whitman  upon  their  return  to  Concord. 
"  Three  men,"  said  Emerson,  in  his  funeral 
eulogy  of  Thoreau,  "  have  of  late  years  strongly 
impressed  Mr.  Thoreau,  —  John  Brown,  his  In 
dian  guide  in  Maine,  Joe  Polis,  and  a  third  per 
son,  not  known  to  this  audience."  This  last  was 
Whitman,  who  has  since  become  well  known  to 
a  larger  audience. 

TO   HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

EAGLESWOOD,  N.  J.,  November  19,  1856. 
MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  been  here  much  longer 
than  I  expected,  but  have  deferred  answering 
you,  because  I  could  not  foresee  when  I  should 
return.  I  do  not  know  yet  within  three  or  four 
days.  This  uncertainty  makes  it  impossible  for 
me  to  appoint  a  day  to  meet  you,  until  it  shall  be 
too  late  to  hear  from  you  again.  I  think,  there- 


340          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [185(5, 

fore,  that  I  must  go  straight  home.  I  feel  some 
objection  to  reading  that  "  What  shall  it  profit  " 
lecture  again  in  Worcester ;  but  if  you  are 
quite  sure  that  it  will  be  worth  the  while  (it  is 
a  grave  consideration),  I  will  even  make  an 
independent  journey  from  Concord  for  that 
purpose.  I  have  read  three  of  my  old  lectures 
(that  included)  to  the  Eagleswood  people,  and, 
unexpectedly,  with  rare  success,  —  i.  e.,  I  was 
aware  that  what  I  was  saying  was  silently  taken 
in  by  their  ears. 

You  must  excuse  me  if  I  write  mainly  a  busi 
ness  letter  now,  for  I  am  sold  for  the  time,  — 
am  merely  Thoreau  the   surveyor  here,  —  and 
solitude  is  scarcely  obtainable  in  these  parts. 

Alcott  has  been  here  three  times,  and,  Satur 
day  before  last,  I  went  with  him  and  Greeley,  by 
invitation  of  the  last,  to  G.'s  farm,  thirty-six 
miles  north  of  New  York.  The  next  day  A. 
and  I  heard  Beecher  preach ;  and  what  was 
more,  we  visited  Whitman  the  next  morning  (A. 
had  already  seen  him),  and  were  much  inter 
ested  and  provoked.  He  is  apparently  the 
greatest  democrat  the  world  has  seen.  Kings 
and  aristocracy  go  by  the  board  at  once,  as  they 
have  long  deserved  to.  A  remarkably  strong 
though  coarse  nature,  of  a  sweet  disposition,  and 
much  prized  by  his  friends.  Though  peculiar  and 
rough  in  his  exterior,  his  skin  (all  over  (?))  red, 


JET.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  341 

he  is  essentially  a  gentleman.  I  am  still  some 
what  in  a  quandary  about  him,  —  feel  that  he 
is  essentially  strange  to  me,  at  any  rate  ;  but  I 
am  surprised  by  the  sight  of  him.  He  is  very 
broad,  but,  as  I  have  said,  not  fine.  He  said 
that  I  misapprehended  him.  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  I  do.  He  told  us  that  he  loved  to  ride 
up  and  down  Broadway  all  day  on  an  omnibus, 
sitting  beside  the  driver,  listening  to  the  roar 
of  the  carts,  and  sometimes  gesticulating  and 
declaiming  Homer  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  He 
has  long  been  an  editor  and  writer  for  the  news 
papers,  —  was  editor  of  the  "  New  Orleans  Cres 
cent  "  once ;  but  now  has  no  employment  but 
to  read  and  write  in  the  forenoon,  and  walk  in 
the  afternoon,  like  all  the  rest  of  the  scribbling 
gentry. 

I  shall  probably  be  in  Concord  next  week ;  so 
you  can  direct  to  me  there. 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  December  G,  1856. 

ME.  BLAKE,  —  I  trust  that  you  got  a  note 
from  me  at  Eagleswood,  about  a  fortnight  ago. 
I  passed  through  Worcester  on  the  morning  of 
the  25th  of  November,  and  spent  several  hours 
(from  3.30  to  6.20)  in  the  travelers'  room  at  the 
depot,  as  in  a  dream,  it  now  seems.  As  the  first 
Harlem  train  unexpectedly  connected  with  the 


342         FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

first  from  Fitchburg,  I  did  not  spend  the  forenoon 
with  you  as  I  had  anticipated,  on  account  of 
baggage,  etc.  If  it  had  been  a  seasonable  hour, 
I  should  have  seen  you,  —  i.  e.,  if  you  had  not 
gone  to  a  horse-race.  But  think  of  making  a 
call  at  half  past  three  in  the  morning !  (would 
it  not  have  implied  a  three  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing  courage  in  both  you  and  me  ?)  as  it  were, 
ignoring  the  fact  that  mankind  are  really  not  at 
home,  —  are  not  out,  but  so  deeply  in  that  they 
cannot  be  seen,  —  nearly  half  their  hours  at  this 
season  of  the  year. 

I  walked  up  and  down  the  main  street,  at  half 
past  five,  in  the  dark,  and  paused  long  in  front 
of  Brown's  store,  trying  to  distinguish  its  fea 
tures  ;  considering  whether  I  might  safely  leave 
his  "Putnam  "  in  the  door-handle,  but  concluded 
not  to  risk  it.  Meanwhile  a  watchman  (?) 
seemed  to  be  watching  me,  and  I  moved  off. 
Took  another  turn  round  there,  and  had  the 
very  earliest  offer  of  the  Transcript 1  from  an 
urchin  behind,  whom  I  actually  could  not  see,  it 
was  so  dark.  So  I  withdrew,  wondering  if  you 
and  B.  would  know  if  I  had  been  there.  You 
little  dream  who  is  occupying  Worcester  when 
you  are  all  asleep.  Several  things  occurred 
there  that  night  which  I  will  venture  to  say  were 
not  put  into  the  Transcript.  A  cat  caught  a 

1  A  Worcester  newspaper. 


JST.39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  343 

mouse  at  the  depot,  and  gave  it  to  her  kitten 
to  play  with.  So  that  world-famous  tragedy 
goes  on  by  night  as  well  as  by  day,  and  nature  is 
emphatically  wrong.  Also  I  saw  a  young  Irish 
man  kneel  before  his  mother,  as  if  in  prayer, 
while  she  wiped  a  cinder  out  of  his  eye  with  her 
tongue  ;  and  I  found  that  it  was  never  too  late 
(or  early  ?)  to  learn  something.  These  things 
transpired  while  you  and  B.  were,  to  all  practical 
purposes,  nowhere,  and  good  for  nothing,  —  not 
even  for  society,  —  not  for  horse-races,  —  nor 
the  taking  back  of  a  "  Putnam's  Magazine."  It 
is  true,  I  might  have  recalled  you  to  life,  but  it 
would  have  been  a  cruel  act,  considering  the 
kind  of  life  you  would  have  come  back  to. 

However,  I  would  fain  write  to  you  now  by 
broad  daylight,  and  report  to  you  some  of  my 
life,  such  as  it  is,  and  recall  you  to  your  life, 
which  is  not  always  lived  by  you,  even  by  day 
light.  Blake !  Brown !  are  you  awake  ?  are 
you  aware  what  an  ever-glorious  morning  this 
is,  --  what  long-expected,  never-to-be-repeated 
opportunity  is  now  offered  to  get  life  and  know 
ledge  ? 

For  my  part,  I  am  trying  to  wake  up,  —  to 

wring  slumber  out  of  my  pores  ;  for,  generally, 

I  take  events  as  unconcernedly  as  a  fence  post, 

—  absorb  wet  and  cold  like  it,  and  am  pleasantly 

tickled  with  lichens  slowly  spreading  over  me. 


344          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

Could  I  not  be  content,  then,  to  be  a  cedar  post, 
which  lasts  twenty-five  years?  Would  I  not 
rather  be  that  than  the  farmer  that  set  it  ?  or 
he  that  preaches  to  the  farmer?  and  go  to  the 
heaven  of  posts  at  last  ?  I  think  I  should  like 
that  as  well  as  any  would  like  it.  But  I  should 
not  care  if  I  sprouted  into  a  living  tree,  put 
forth  leaves  and  flowers,  and  bore  fruit. 

I  am  grateful  for  what  I  am  and  have.  My 
thanksgiving  is  perpetual.  It  is  surprising  how 
contented  one  can  be  with  nothing  definite,  — 
only  a  sense  of  existence.  Well,  anything  for 
variety.  I  am  ready  to  try  this  for  the  next  ten 
thousand  years,  and  exhaust  it.  How  sweet  to 
think  of  !  my  extremities  well  charred,  and  my 
intellectual  part  too,  so  that  there  is  no  danger 
of  worm  or  rot  for  a  long  while.  My  breath  is 
sweet  to  me.  O  how  I  laugh  when  I  think  of  my 
vague,  indefinite  riches.  No  run  on  my  bank 
can  drain  it,  for  my  wealth  is  not  possession  but 
enjoyment. 

What  are  all  these  years  made  for  ?  and  now 
another  winter  comes,  so  much  like  the  last? 
Can't  we  satisfy  the  beggars  once  for  all  ? 

Have  you  got  in  your  wood  for  this  winter  ? 
What  else  have  you  got  in?  Of  what  use  a 
great  fire  on  the  hearth,  and  a  confounded  little 
fire  in  the  heart?  Are  you  prepared  to  make  a 
decisive  campaign,  —  to  pay  for  your  costly  tui- 


IN    THE   PLAY. 


ie     Necessities  in    the    Production  of 

cts. 


piston  produced  an  apparent  ex- 
This  was  fed  'by  a  hose  connec- 
-om  the  boiler-room  of  the  thea- 
)n  the  first  night,  as  the  derailed 
toppled  over,  the  valve  got 
*d,  and  the  pressure  of  the  steam 
d"  the  whole  business.  Nobody 
urt,  and  the  audience,  which  sup- 
it  was  intended,  was  in  ecstacies. 
heater  was  crowded  the  second 
n  expectation  of  the  realistic  busi- 
but  was  doomed  to  disappoint- 

ve  seen,  a  good  many  o£her  full- 
engines  put  upon  the  stage, 
f  them  in  this  city,  but  for 
3f  finish  in  the  polished  metal 
;  they  have  all  been  mani- 
wood  and  paper  "fakes."  A 
lade  property  should  be  illusory, 
lect  seeing  a  "fake"  locomotive  at 
•ople's.  Theater  in  New  York  which 
>ally  a  painted  set  piece  with  prac- 
5  wheels  and  some  cylinders  and 
5  working  on  the  face  of  it.  This* 
[so  a  first-night  occasion  and  with 
of  noise  and  a  quick  curtain 
have  gone  well  enough,  but  it 
vorked  by  three  men  walking  at 
ick  of  it.  The  topheavy  stuff  got 
;tter  of  their  grasp,  which  fell  on 
:e,  revealing  the  three  astonished 
to  the  equally  astonished  house. 


in   this  city  by  Frank  Marcus,  an  ac 
complished   modeler. 

Probably  among  large  properties  the 
most  imDortant  ever  made  was  that  of 
the,  Egyptian  god  Ptha  in  "Aida"  at  the 
Metropolitan  Opera-house  in  New 
York.  The  statue,  made  in  paper  upon 
a  wooden  framework,  was  modeled  from 
an  authentic  example.  It  represented 
an  Egyptian  Pharaonic  divinty,  with 
the  peculiar  napkin.like  headdress 
known  as  the  "klaft,"  and  was  seated 
in  the  characteristic  attitude  of  solemn 
dignity,  with  the  hands  upon  the 
knees,  as  in  the  statue  of  Memnon.  With 
its  pedestal  it  reached  a  height  of  thir 
ty-five  feet,  and,  being  placed  in  the 
center  of  a  scene  designed  after  the 
famous  Hall  of  Columns  at  Karnak, 
it  was  a  remarkable  feature  of  the 
spectacle.  The  four  corners!  of  the  tem 
ple  were  occupied  by  four'other  remark 
able  properties — gigantic  incense  tri 
pods,  fanned  by  the  priestesses  while 
singing  the  famous  soprano  prayer  to 
the  "Almighty  Ptha,  God  of  Nature." 

When  the  theater  was  burned,  not 
only  did  that  enormous  property  go  up, 
but  also  one  of  the  most  complete  and 
beautiful  collections  of  stage  armor, 
jewelry  and  weapons  was  destroyed. 
Most  of  the  armor  had  been  made  for  the 
Wagnerian  operas.  Some  of  the  pieces, 
such  as  the  winged  helmet  of  Wotan, 
were  works  of  art,  but  the  collection  also 
contained  some  fine  pieces  of  genuine 
armor,  one  suit  of  Florentine  in  partic 
ular  being  inlaid  with  florid  Niello  work. 

The  properties,  however,  made  in  a 
theater  run  by  American  millionaires, 
regardless  of  expense,  can  hardly  be 
taken  as  types  of  ordinary  work;  yet 
some  of  them  were  very  interesting. 
The  gigantic  swan  in  "Lohengrin," 
which  had  to  be  raised  on1  a  special  trap, 
and  the  enormous  dragon,  opening  jaws 
large  enough  to  swallow  a  horse, 
breathing  out  steam  and  flames,  in 


Wait    Whitman,    Frona    a     Photograph    Taken 
/  His    Old    Age. 


MT.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  345 

tion,  —  to  pay  for  the  suns  of  past  summers,  — 
for  happiness  and  unhappiness  lavished  upon 
you? 

Does  not  Time  go  by  swifter  than  the  swift 
est  equine  trotter  or  racker? 

Stir  up  Brown.  Eemind  him  of  his  duties, 
which  outrun  the  date  and  span  of  Worcester's 
years  past  and  to  come.  Tell  him  to  be  sure 
that  he  is  on  the  main  street,  however  narrow  it 
may  be,  and  to  have  a  lit  sign,  visible  by  night 
as  well  as  by  day. 

Are  they  not  patient  waiters,  —  they  who  wait 
for  us  ?  But  even  they  shall  not  be  Iosers0 

December  7. 

That  Walt  Whitman,  of  whom  I  wrote  to  you, 
is  the  most  interesting  fact  to  me  at  present.  I 
have  just  read  his  second  edition  (which  he 
gave  me),  and  it  has  done  me  more  good  than 
any  reading  for  a  long  time.  Perhaps  I  remem 
ber  best  the  poem  of  Walt  Whitman,  an  Amer 
ican,  and  the  Sun-Down  Poem.  There  are  two 
or  three  pieces  in  the  book  which  are  disagree 
able,  to  say  the  least ;  simply  sensual.  He  does 
not  celebrate  love  at  all.  It  is  as  if  the  beasts 
spoke.  I  think  that  men  have  not  been  ashamed 
of  themselves  without  reason.  No  doubt  there 
have  always  been  dens  where  such  deeds  were 
unblushingly  recited,  and  it  is  no  merit  to  com- 


346         FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

pete  with  their  inhabitants.  But  even  on  this 
side  he  has  spoken  more  truth  than  any  Ameri- 
ican  or  modern  that  I  know.  I  have  found  his 
poem  exhilarating,  encouraging.  As  for  its 
sensuality,  —  and  it  may  turn  out  to  be  less 
sensual  than  it  appears,  —  I  do  not  so  much 
wish  that  those  parts  were  not  written,  as  that 
men  and  women  were  so  pure  that  they  could 
read  them  without  harm,  that  is,  without  under 
standing  them.  One  woman  told  me  that  no 
woman  could  read  it,  —  as  if  a  man  could  read 
what  a  woman  could  not.  Of  course  Walt 
Whitman  can  communicate  to  us  no  experience, 
and  if  we  are  shocked,  whose  experience  is  it 
that  we  are  reminded  of  ? 

On  the  whole,  it  sounds  to  me  very  brave  and 
American,  after  whatever  deductions.  I  do  not 
believe  that  all  the  sermons,  so  called,  that  have 
been  preached  in  this  land  put  together  are 
equal  to  it  for  preaching. 

We  ought  to  rejoice  greatly  in  him.  He  oc 
casionally  suggests  something  a  little  more  than 
human.  You  can't  confound  him  with  the  other 
inhabitants  of  Brooklyn  or  New  York.  How 
they  must  shudder  when  they  read  him !  He  is 
awfully  good. 

To  be  sure  I  sometimes  feel  a  little  imposed 
on.  By  his  heartiness  and  broad  generalities  he 
puts  me  into  a  liberal  frame  of  mind  prepared 


JET.39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  347 

to  see  wonders, —  as  it  were,  sets  me  upon  a 
hill  or  in  the  midst  of  a  plain,  —  stirs  me  well 
up,  and  then  —  throws  in  a  thousand  of  brick. 
Though  rude,  and  sometimes  ineffectual,  it  is  a 
great  primitive  poem,  —  an  alarum  or  trumpet- 
note  ringing  through  the  American  camp. 
Wonderfully  like  the  Orientals,  too,  considering 
that  when  I  asked  him  if  he  had  read  them,  he 
answered,  "  No  :  tell  me  about  them." 

I  did  not  get  far  in  conversation  with  him,  — 
two  more  being  present,  —  and  among  the  few 
things  which  I  chanced  to  say,  I  remember  that 
one  was,  in  answer  to  him  as  representing  Amer 
ica,  that  I  did  not  think  much  of  America  or  of 
politics,  and  so  on,  which  may  have  been  some 
what  of  a  damper  to  him. 

Since  I  have  seen  him,  I  find  that  I  am  not 
disturbed  by  any  brag  or  egoism  in  his  book.  He 
may  turn  out  the  least  of  a  braggart  of  all,  hav 
ing  a  better  right  to  be  confident. 

He  is  a  great  fellow. 

There  is  in  Alcott's  diary  an  account  of  this 
interview  with  Whitman,  and  the  Sunday  morn 
ing  in  Ward  Beecher's  Brooklyn  church,  from 
which  a  few  passages  may  be  taken.  Hardly  any 
person  met  by  either  of  these  Concord  friends  in  V 
their  later  years  made  so  deep  an  impression  on 
both  as  did  this  then  almost  unknown  poet  and 


848          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [185G, 

thinker,  concerning  whom  Cholmondeley  wrote 
to  Thoreau  in  1857 :  "Is  there  actually  such  a 
man  as  Whitman?  Has  any  one  seen  or  han 
dled  him  ?  His  is  a  tongue  '  not  understanded  ' 
of  the  English  people.  I  find  the  gentleman 
altogether  left  out  of  the  book.  It  is  the  first 
book  I  have  ever  seen  which  I  should  call  a 
4  new  book.' " 

Mr.  Alcott  writes  under  date  of  November  7, 
1856,  in  New  York :  "  Henry  Thoreau  arrives 
from  Eagleswood,  and  sees  Swinton,  a  wise  young 
Scotchman,  and  Walt  Whitman's  friend,  at  my 
room  (15  Laight  Street),  —  Thoreau  declining 
to  accompany  me  to  Mrs.  Botta's  parlors,  as  in 
vited  by  her.  He  sleeps  here.  (November  8.) 
We  find  Greeley  at  the  Harlem  station,  and  ride 
with  him  to  his  farm,  where  we  pass  the  day,  and 
return  to  sleep  in  the  city,  —  Greeley  coming  in 
with  us ;  Alice  Gary,  the  authoress,  accompany 
ing  us  also.  (Sunday,  November  9.)  We  cross 
the  ferry  to  Brooklyn,  and  hear  Ward  Beecher 
at  the  Plymouth  Church.  It  was  a  spectacle, 
—  and  himself  the  Preacher,  if  preacher  there  be 
anywhere  now  in  pulpits.  His  auditors  had  to 
weep,  had  to  laugh,  under  his  potent  magnetism, 
while  his  doctrine  of  justice  to  all  men,  bond  and 
free,  was  grand.  House,  entries,  aisles,  galleries, 
all  were  crowded.  Thoreau  called  it  pagan,  but 
I  pronounced  it  good,  very  good,  —  the  best  I 


*3T.39.]  TO  B.  B.   WILEY.  349 

had  witnessed  for  many  a  day,  and  hopeful  for 
the  coming  time.  At  dinner  at  Mrs.  Manning's 
Miss  M.  S.  was  there,  curious  to  see  Thoreau. 
After  dinner  we  called  on  Walt  Whitman  (Tho 
reau  and  I),  but  finding  him  out,  we  got  all  we 
could  from  his  mother,  a  stately,  sensible  matron, 
believing  absolutely  in  Walter,  and  telling  us 
how  good  he  was,  and  how  wise  when  a  boy ;  and 
how  his  four  brothers  and  two  sisters  loved  him, 
and  still  take  counsel  of  the  great  man  he  has 
grown  to  be.  We  engaged  to  call  again  early  in 
the  morning,  when  she  said  Walt  would  be  glad 
to  see  us.  (Monday,  10th.)  Mrs.  Tyndale  of 
Philadelphia  goes  with  us  to  see  Walt,  —  Walt 
the  satyr,  the  Bacchus,  the  very  god  Pan.  We 
sat  with  him  for  two  hours,  and  much  to  our  de 
light  ;  he  promising  to  call  on  us  at  the  Interna 
tional  at  ten  in  the  morning  to-morrow,  and  there 
have  the  rest  of  it."  Whitman  failed  to  call  at 
his  hour  the  next  day. 

TO   B.    B.    WILEY    (AT   CHICAGO). 

CONCORD,  December  12,  1856. 

MR.  WiLEY,1  —  It  is  refreshing  to  hear  of 
your  earnest  purpose  with  respect  to  your  cul 
ture,  and  I  can  send  you  no  better  wish  than  that 

1  B.  B.  Wiley,  then  of  Providence,  since  of  Chicago,  had 
written  to  Thoreau,  September  4,  for  a  copy  of  the  Week, 
which  the  author  was  then  selling1  on  his  own  account,  having 


350          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.       .[1856, 

you  may  not  be  thwarted  by  the  cares  and  temp 
tations  of  life.  Depend  on  it,  now  is  the  ac 
cepted  time,  and  probably  you  will  never  find 
yourself  better  disposed  or  freer  to  attend  to 
your  culture  than  at  this  moment.  When  They 
who  inspire  us  with  the  idea  are  ready,  shall  not 
we  be  ready  also  ? 

I  do  not  remember  anything  which  Confucius 
has  said  directly  respecting  man's  "  origin,  pur 
pose,  and  destiny."  He  was  more  practical  than 
that.  He  is  full  of  wisdom  applied  to  human 
relations,  —  to  the  private  life,  —  the  family,  — 
government,  etc.  It  is  remarkable  that,  accord 
ing  to  his  own  account,  the  sum  and  substance 
of  his  teaching  is,  as  you  know,  to  do  as  you 
would  be  done  by. 

He  also  said  (I  translate  from  the  French), 
"  Conduct  yourself  suitably  towards  the  persons 
of  your  family,  then  you  will  be  able  to  instruct 
and  to  direct  a  nation  of  men." 

"  To  nourish  one's  self  with  a  little  rice,  to 
drink  water,  to  have  only  his  bended  arm  to  sup 
port  his  head,  is  a  state  which  has  also  its  satis 
faction.  To  be  rich  and  honored  by  iniquitous 

bought  back  the  unsalable  first  edition  from  his  publisher, 
Munroe.  In  a  letter  of  October  31,  to  which  the  above  is  a 
reply,  he  mentions  taking-  a  walk  with  Charles  Newcomb,  then 
of  Providence,  now  of  London,  —  one  of  the  Dial  contributors, 
and  a  special  friend  of  Emerson  ;  then  inquires  about  Confu 
cius,  the  Hindoo  philosophers,  and  Swedenborg. 


JST.  39.]  TO  B.  B.  WILEY.  351 

means  is  for  me  as  the  floating  cloud  which 
passes." 

"  As  soon  as  a  child  is  born  he  must  respect 
its  faculties :  the  knowledge  which  will  come  to 
it  by  and  by  does  not  resemble  at  all  its  present 
state.  If  it  arrive  at  the  age  of  forty  or  fifty 
years  without  having  learned  anything,  it  is  no 
more  worthy  of  any  respect."  This  last,  I  think, 
will  speak  to  your  condition. 

But  at  this  rate  I  might  fill  many  letters. 

Our  acquaintance  with  the  ancient  Hindoos  is 
not  at  all  personal.  The  full  names  that  can  be 
relied  upon  are  very  shadowy.  It  is,  however, 
tangible  works  that  we  know.  The  best  I  think 
of  are  the  Bhagvat  Geeta  (an  episode  in  an 
ancient  heroic  poem  called  the  Mahabarat),  the 
Vedas,  the  Vishnu  Purana,  the  Institutes  of 
Menu,  etc. 

I  cannot  say  that  Swedenborg  has  been  di 
rectly  and  practically  valuable  to  me,  for  I  have 
not  been  a  reader  of  him,  except  to  a  slight  ex 
tent  ;  but  I  have  the  highest  regard  for  him,  and 
trust  that  I  shall  read  his  works  in  some  world 
or  other.  He  had  a  wonderful  knowledge  of  our 
interior  and  spiritual  life,  though  his  illumina 
tions  are  occasionally  blurred  by  trivialities.  He 
comes  nearer  to  answering,  or  attempting  to  an 
swer,  literally,  your  questions  concerning  man's 
origin,  purpose,  and  destiny,  than  any  of  the 


352          FRIENDS  AND   FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

worthies  I  have  referred  to.  But  I  think  that  that 
is  not  altogether  a  recommendation ;  since  such 
an  answer  to  these  questions  cannot  be  discov 
ered  any  more  than  perpetual  motion,  for  which 
no  reward  is  now  offered.  The  noblest  man  it 
is,  methinks,  that  knows,  and  by  his  life  suggests, 
the  most  about  these  things.  Crack  away  at 
these  nuts,  however,  as  long  as  you  can,  —  the 
very  exercise  will  ennoble  you,  and  you  may  get 
something  better  than  the  answer  you  expect. 

TO    B.    B.    WILEY    (AT    CHICAGO). 

CONCORD,  April  26,  1857. 

MR.  WILEY,  —  I  see  that  you  are  turning  a 
broad  furrow  among  the  books,  but  I  trust  that 
some  very  private  journal  all  the  while  holds  its 
own  through  their  midst.  Books  can  only  reveal 
us  to  ourselves,  and  as  often  as  they  do  us  this 
service  we  lay  them  aside.  I  should  say,  read 
Goethe's  Autobiography,  by  all  means,  also  Gib 
bon's,  Hay  don  the  Painter's,  and  our  Franklin's 
of  course ;  perhaps  also  Alfieri's,  Benvenuto 
Cellini's,  and  De  Quincey's  "  Confessions  of  an 
Opium-Eater,"  -  —  since  you  like  autobiography. 
I  think  you  must  read  Coleridge  again,  and  fur 
ther,  skipping  all  his  theology,  i.  e.,  if  you  value 
precise  definitions  and  a  discriminating  use  of 
language.  By  the  way,  read  De  Quincey's  Remi 
niscences  of  Coleridge  and  Wordsworth. 


JST.  39.]  TO  B.  B.   WILEY.  353 

How  shall  we  account  for  our  pursuits,  if  they 
are  original  ?  We  get  the  language  with  which 
to  describe  our  various  lives  out  of  a  common 
mint.  If  others  have  their  losses  which  they  are 
busy  repairing,  so  have  I  mine,  and  their  hound 
and  horse  may  perhaps  be  the  symbols  of  some 
of  them.1  But  also  I  have  lost,  or  am  in  danger 
of  losing,  a  far  finer  and  more  ethereal  treasure, 
which  commonly  no  loss,  of  which  they  are  con 
scious,  will  symbolize.  This  I  answer  hastily 
and  with  some  hesitation,  according  as  I  now 
understand  my  words.  .  .  . 

Methinks  a  certain  polygamy  with  its  troubles 
is  the  fate  of  almost  all  men.  They  are  married 
to  two  wives  :  their  genius  (a  celestial  muse), 

1  When  in  1855  or  1856  Thoreau  started  to  wade  across  from 
Duxbury  to  Clark's  Island,  and  was  picked  up  by  a  fishing- 
boat  in  the  deep  water,  and  landed  on  the  "  backside  "  of  the 
island  (see  letter  to  Mr.  Watson  of  April  25,  1858),  Edward 
Watson  ("  Uncle  Ed  "),  was  "  saggin'  round  "  to  see  that  every 
thing  was  right  alongshore,  and  encountered  the  unexpected 
visitor.  "  How  did  you  come  here  ?  "  "  Oh,  from  Duxbury," 
said  Thoreau,  and  they  walked  to  the  old  Watson  house  to 
gether.  "  You  say  in  one  of  your  books,"  said  Uncle  Ed,  "  that 
you  once  lost  a  horse  and  a  hound  and  a  dove,  —  now  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  meant  by  that  ?  "  "  Why,  everybody 
has  met  with  losses,  have  n't  they  ?  "  "  H'm,  —  pretty  way  to 
answer  a  fellow  !  "  said  Mr.  Watson  ;  but  it  seems  this  was  the 
usual  answer.  In  the  long  dining-room  of  the  old  house  that 
night  he  sat  by  the  window  and  told  the  story  of  the  Norse 
voyag'ers  to  New  England,  —  perhaps  to  that  very  island  and 
the  Gurnet  near  by,  —  as  Morton  fancies  in  his  review  of 
Thoreau  in  the  Harvard  Magazine  (January,  1855). 


354          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1856, 

and  also  to  some  fair  daughter  of  the  earth. 
Unless  these  two  were  fast  friends  before  mar 
riage,  and  so  are  afterward,  there  will  be  but 
little  peace  in  the  house. 

TO   HARBISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  December  31, 1856. 

MK.  BLAKE,  —  I  think  it  will  not  be  worth 
the  while  for  me  to  come  to  Worcester  to  lecture 
at  all  this  year.  It  will  be  better  to  wait  till  I 
am  —  perhaps  unfortunately  —  more  in  that  line. 
My  writing  has  not  taken  the  shape  of  lectures, 
and  therefore  I  should  be  obliged  to  read  one  of 
three  or  four  old  lectures,  the  best  of  which  I 
have  read  to  some  of  your  auditors  before.  I 
carried  that  one  which  I  call  "  Walking,  or  the 
Wild,"  to  Amherst,  N.  H.,  the  evening  of  that 
cold  Thursday,1  and  I  am  to  read  another  at 
Fitchburg,  February  3.  I  am  simply  their  hired 
man.  This  will  probably  be  the  extent  of  my 
lecturing  hereabouts. 

I  must  depend  on  meeting  Mr.  Wasson  some 
other  time. 

Perhaps  it  always  costs  me  more  than  it  comes 
to  to  lecture  before  a  promiscuous  audience.  It 

1  This  was  when  he  spoke  in  the  vestry  of  the  Calvinistic 
church,  and  said,  on  his  return  to  Concord,  "  that  he  hoped 
he  had  done  something  to  upheave  and  demolish  the  structure 
above,"  —  the  vestry  being  beneath  the  church. 


OUT.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  355 

is  an  irreparable  injury  done  to  my  modesty  even, 
—  I  become  so  indurated. 

O  solitude  !  obscurity !  meanness  !  I  never 
triumph  so  as  when  I  have  the  least  success  in 
my  neighbor's  eyes.  The  lecturer  gets  fifty  dol 
lars  a  night ;  but  what  becomes  of  his  winter  ? 
What  consolation  will  it  be  hereafter  to  have 
fifty  thousand  dollars  for  living  in  the  world? 
I  should  like  not  to  exchange  any  of  my  life  for 
money. 

These,  you  may  think,  are  reasons  for  not  lec 
turing,  when  you  have  no  great  opportunity.  It 
is  even  so,  perhaps.  I  could  lecture  on  dry  oak 
leaves  ;  I  could,  but  who  could  hear  me  ?  If  I 
were  to  try  it  on  any  large  audience,  I  fear  it 
would  be  no  gain  to  them,  and  a  positive  loss  to 
me.  I  should  have  behaved  rudely  toward  my 
rustling  friends.1 

1  Notwithstanding  this  unwillingness  to  lecture,  Thoreau 
did  speak  at  Worcester,  February  13,  1857,  on  "Walking," 
but  scrupulously  added  to  his  consent  (February  6),  "  I  told 
Brown  it  had  not  been  much  altered  since  I  read  it  in  Worces 
ter  ;  but  now  I  think  of  it,  much  of  it  must  have  been  new  to 
you,  because,  having  since  divided  it  into  two,  I  am  able  to 
read  what  before  I  omitted.  Nevertheless,  I  should  like  to 
have  it  understood  by  those  whom  it  concerns,  that  I  am 
invited  to  read  in  public  (if  it  be  so)  what  I  have  already 
read,  in  part,  to  a  private  audience."  This  throws  some  light 
on  his  method  of  preparing  lectures,  which  were  afterwards 
published  as  essays  ;  they  were  made  up  from  his  journals,  and 
new  entries  expanded  them. 


356  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.       [1857, 

I  am  surveying,  instead  of  lecturing,  at  pres 
ent.  Let  me  have  a  skimming  from  your  "  pan 
of  unwrinkled  cream." 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT    NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  April  1,  1857. 

DEAR  RICKETSON,  —  I  got  your  note  of  wel 
come  night  before  last.  I  expect,  if  the  weather 
is  favorable,  to  take  the  4.30  train  from  Boston 
to-morrow,  Thursday,  P.  M.,  for  I  hear  of  no  noon 
train,  and  shall  be  glad  to  find  your  wagon  at 
Tarkiln  Hill,  for  I  see  it  will  be  rather  late  for 
going  across  lots. 

I  have  seen  all  the  spring  signs  you  mention, 
and  a  few  more,  even  here.  Nay,  I  heard  one 
frog  peep  nearly  a  week  ago,  —  methinks  the 
very  first  one  in  all  this  region.  I  wish  that 
there  were  a  few  more  signs  of  spring  in  myself ; 
however,  I  take  it  that  there  are  as  many  within 
us  as  we  think  we  hear  without  us.  I  am  decent 
for  a  steady  pace,  but  not  yet  for  a  race.  I  have 
a  little  cold  at  present,  and  you  speak  of  rheu 
matism  about  the  head  and  shoulders.  Your 
frost  is  not  quite  out.  I  suppose  that  the  earth 
itself  has  a  little  cold  and  rheumatism  about 
these  times  ;  but  all  these  things  together  pro 
duce  a  very  fair  general  result.  In  a  concert, 
you  know,  we  must  sing  our  parts  feebly  some 
times,  that  we  may  not  injure  the  general  effect. 


mi.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  357 

I  should  n't  wonder  if  my  two-year-old  invalidity 
had  been  a  positively  charming  feature  to  some 
amateurs  favorably  located.  Why  not  a  blasted 
man  as  well  as  a  blasted  tree,  on  your  lawn? 

If  you  should  happen  not  to  see  me  by  the 
train  named,  do  not  go  again,  but  wait  at  home 
for  me,  or  a  note  from  yours, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  April  17,  1857. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  returned  from  New  Bedford 
night  before  last.  I  met  Alcott  there,  and  learned 
from  him  that  probably  you  had  gone  to  Con 
cord.  I  am  very  sorry  that  I  missed  you.  I 
had  expected  you  earlier,  and  at  last  thought 
that  I  should  get  back  before  you  came  ;  but  I 
ought  to  have  notified  you  of  my  absence.  How 
ever,  it  would  have  been  too  late,  after  I  had 
made  up  my  mind  to  go.  I  hope  you  lost  no 
thing  by  going  a  little  round. 

I  took  out  the  celtis  seeds  at  your  request,  at 
the  time  we  spoke  of  them,  and  left  them  in  the 
chamber  on  some  shelf  or  other.  If  you  have 
found  them,  very  well ;  if  you  have  not  found 
them,  very  well ;  but  tell  Hale  l  of  it,  if  you  see 

1  Rev.  Edward  E.  Hale,  then  pastor  at  Worcester.  Others 
mentioned  in  the  letter  are  Rev.  David  A.  Wasson  and  Dr. 
Seth  Rogers,  — the  latter  a  physician  with  whom  Mr.  Wasson 
was  living-  in  Worcester. 


358          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

him.  My  mother  says  that  you  and  Brown  and 
Rogers  and  Wasson  (titles  left  behind)  talk  of 
coming  down  on  me  some  day.  Do  not  fail  to 
come,  one  and  all,  and  within  a  week  or  two,  if 
possible ;  else  I  may  be  gone  again.  Give  me 
a  short  notice,  and  then  come  and  spend  a  day 
on  Concord  River,  —  or  say  that  you  will  come 
if  it  is  fair,  unless  you  are  confident  of  bringing 
fair  weather  with  you.  Come  and  be  Concord, 
as  I  have  been  Worcestered. 

Perhaps  you  came  nearer  to  me  for  not  find 
ing  me  at  home ;  for  trains  of  thought  the  more 
connect  when  trains  of  cars  do  not.  If  I  had 
actually  met  you,  you  would  have  gone  again ; 
but  now  I  have  not  yet  dismissed  you.  I  hear 
what  you  say  about  personal  relations  with  joy. 
It  is  as  if  you  had  said,  "  I  value  the  best  and 
finest  part  of  you,  and  not  the  worst.  I  can  even 
endure  your  very  near  and  real  approach,  and 
prefer  it  to  a  shake  of  the  hand."  This  inter 
course  is  not  subject  to  time  or  distance. 

I  have  a  very  long  new  and  faithful  letter 
from  Cholmondeley,  which  I  wish  to  show  you. 
He  speaks  of  sending  me  more  books  !  ! 

If  I  were  with  you  now,  I  could  tell  you  much 
of  Ricketson,  and  my  visit  to  New  Bedford ;  but 
I  do  not  know  how  it  will  be  by  and  by.  I 
should  like  to  have  you  meet  R.,  who  is  the 
frankest  man  I  know.  Alcott  and  he  get  along 


XT.  39.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  359 

very  well  together.  Channing  has  returned  to 
Concord  with  me,  —  probably  for  a  short  visit 
only. 

Consider  this  a  business  letter,  which  you 
know  counts  nothing  in  the  game  we  play.  Re 
member  me  particularly  to  Brown. 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  June  6,  1857,  3  P.  M. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  have  just  got  your  note,  but 
I  am  sorry  to  say  that  this  very  morning  I  sent 
a  note  to  Channing,  stating  that  I  would  go  with 
him  to  Cape  Cod  next  week  on  an  excursion 
which  we  have  been  talking  of  for  some  time. 
If  there  were  time  to  communicate  with  you,  I 
should  ask  you  to  come  to  Concord  on  Monday, 
before  I  go ;  but  as  it  is,  I  must  wait  till  I  come 
back,  which  I  think  will  be  about  ten  days  hence. 
I  do  not  like  this  delay,  but  there  seems  to  be  a 
fate  in  it.  Perhaps  Mr.  Wasson  will  be  well 
enough  to  come  by  that  time.  I  will  notify  you 
of  my  return,  and  shall  depend  on  seeing  you 
all. 

June  23d.  I  returned  from  Cape  Cod  last 
evening,  and  now  take  the  first  opportunity  to 
invite  you  men  of  Worcester  to  this  quiet  Med 
iterranean  shore.  Can  you  come  this  week  on 
Friday,  or  next  Monday  ?  I  mention  the  earli 
est  days  on  which  I  suppose  you  can  be  ready. 


360          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

If  more  convenient,  name  some  other  time  within 
tan  days.  I  shall  be  rejoiced  to  see  you,  and  to 
act  the  part  of  skipper  in  the  contemplated 
voyage.  I  have  just  got  another  letter  from 
Cholmondeley,  which  may  interest  you  some 
what. 

TO   MARSTON   WATSON    (AT   PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  August  17,  1857. 

MR.  WATSON,  —  I  am  much  indebted  to  you 
for  your  glowing  communication  of  July  20th. 
I  had  that  very  day  left  Concord  for  the  wilds 
of  Maine ;  but  when  I  returned,  August  8th,  two 
out  of  the  six  worms  remained  nearly,  if  not 
quite,  as  bright  as  at  first,  I  was  assured.  In 
their  best  estate  they  had  excited  the  admira 
tion  of  many  of  the  inhabitants  of  Concord.  It 
was  a  singular  coincidence  that  I  should  find 

O 

these  worms  awaiting  me,  for  my  mind  was  full 
of  a  phosphorescence  which  I  had  seen  in  the 
woods.  I  have  waited  to  learn  something  more 
about  them  before  acknowledging  the  receipt  of 
them.  I  have  frequently  met  with  glow-worms 
in  my  night  walks,  but  am  not  sure  they  were 
the  same  kind  with  these.  Dr.  Harris  once  de 
scribed  to  me  a  larger  kind  than  I  had  found, 
"  nearly  as  big  as  your  little  finger ; "  but  he 
does  not  name  them  in  his  report. 

The  only  authorities  on  Glow-worms  which  I 


asT.40.]  TO  MARSTON  WATSON.  361 

chance  to  have  (and  I  am  pretty  well  provided), 
a^e  Kirby  and  Spence  (the  fullest),  Knapp 
("  Journal  of  a  Naturalist "),  "  The  Library  of 
Entertaining  Knowledge  "  (^Rennie),  a  French 
work,  etc.,  etc. ;  but  there  is  no  minute,  scientific 
description  in  any  of  these.  This  is  apparently 
a  female  of  the  genus  Lampyris ;  but  Kirby 
and  Spence  say  that  there  are  nearly  two  hun 
dred  species  of  this  genus  alone.  The  one  com 
monly  referred  to  by  English  writers  is  the 
Lampyris  noctiluea  ;  but  judging  from  Kirby 
and  Spence's  description,  and  from  the  descrip 
tion  and  plate  in  the  French  work,  this  is  not 
that  one,  for,  besides  other  differences,  both  say 
that  the  light  proceeds  from  the  abdomen.  Per 
haps  the  worms  exhibited  by  Durkee  (whose 
statement  to  the  Boston  Society  of  Natural  His 
tory,  second  July  meeting,  in  the  "  Traveller  " 
of  August  12,  1857,  I  send  you)  were  the  same 
with  these.  I  do  not  see  how  they  could  be  the 
L.  noctiluca,  as  he  states. 

I  expect  to  go  to  Cambridge  before  long,  and 
if  I  get  any  more  light  on  this  subject  I  will  in 
form  you.  The  two  worms  are  still  alive. 

I  shall  be  glad  to  receive  the  Drosera  at  any 
time,  if  you  chance  to  come  across  it.  I  am 
looking  over  London's  "  Arboretum,"  which  we 
have  added  to  our  Library,  and  it  occurs  to 
me  that  it  was  written  expressly  for  you,  and 


362         FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

that  you  cannot  avoid  placing  it  on  your  own 
shelves. 

I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  the  whale,  and 
might  perhaps  have  done  so,  if  I  had  not  at  that 
time  been  seeing  "  the  elephant  "  (or  moose)  in 
the  Maine  woods.  I  have  been  associating  for 
about  a  month  with  one  Joseph  Polis,  the  chief 
man  of  the  Penobscot  tribe  of  Indians,  and 
have  learned  a  great  deal  from  him,  which  I 
should  like  to  tell  you  sometime. 

TO   MARSTON    WATSON    (AT   PLYMOUTH). 

CONCORD,  April  25,  1858. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  unexpected  gift  of  pear- 
trees  reached  me  yesterday  in  good  condition, 
and  I  spent  the  afternoon  in  giving  them  a  good 
setting  out;  but  I  fear  that  this  cold  weather 
may  hurt  them.  However,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  they  are  insured,  since  you  have  looked  on 
them.  It  makes  one's  mouth  water  to  read  their 
names  only.  From  what  I  hear  of  the  extent  of 
your  bounty,  if  a  reasonable  part  of  the  trees 
succeed,  this  transplanting  will  make  a  new  era 
for  Concord  to  date  from. 

Mine  must  be  a  lucky  star,  for  day  before 
yesterday  I  received  a  box  of  Mayflowers  from 
Brattleboro,  and  yesterday  morning  your  pear- 
trees,  and  at  evening  a  humming-bird's  nest  from 
Worcester.  This  looks  like  fairy  housekeeping. 


2ET.40.]  TO  MARSTQN  WATSON.  363 

I  discovered  two  new  plants  in  Concord  last 
winter,  the  Labrador  Tea  (Ledum  latifolium), 
and  Yew  (Taxis  baccata). 

By  the  way,  in  January  I  communicated  with 
Dr.  Durkee,  whose  report  on  Glow-worms  I  sent 
you,  and  it  appeared,  as  I  expected,  that  he 
(and  by  his  account,  Agassiz,  Gould,  Jackson, 
and  others  to  whom  he  showed  them)  did  not 
consider  them  a  distinct  species,  but  a  variety 
of  the  common,  or  Lampyris  noctiluca,  some  of 
which  you  got  in  Lincoln.  Durkee,  at  least,  has 
never  seen  the  last.  I  told  him  that  I  had  no 
doubt  about  their  being  a  distinct  species.  His, 
however,  were  luminous  throughout  every  part 
of  the  body,  as  those  which  you  sent  me  were 
not,  while  I  had  them. 

Is  nature  as  full  of  vigor  to  your  eyes  as  ever, 
or  do  you  detect  some  falling  off  at  last  ?  Is  the 
mystery  of  the  hog's  bristle  cleared  up,  and  with 
it  that  of  our  life  ?  It  is  the  question,  to  the 
exclusion  of  every  other  interest. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  the  burning  of  your 
woods,  but,  thank  Heaven,  your  great  ponds  and 
your  sea  cannot  be  burnt.  I  love  to  think  of 
your  warm,  sandy  wood-roads,  and  your  breezy 
island  out  in  the  sea.  What  a  prospect  you  can 
get  every  morning  from  the  hilltop  east  of  your 
house ! 1  I  think  that  even  the  heathen  that  I 

1  Marston  Watson,  whose  uncle,  Edward  Watson,  with  his 


364          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

am  could  say,  or  sing,  or  dance,  morning  prayers 
there  of  some  kind. 

Please  remember  me  to  Mrs.  Watson,  and  to 
the  rest  of  your  family  who  are  helping  the  sun 
shine  yonder. 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT    NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  August  18,  1857. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  Your  Wilson  Flagg  1  seems  a 
serious  person,  and  it  is  encouraging  to  hear 

nephews,  owned  the  "  breezy  island  "  where  Thoreau  had  vis 
ited  his  friends  (Clark's  Island,  the  only  one  in  Plymouth  Bay), 
had  built  his  own  house,  "  Hillside,"  on  the  slope  of  one  of  the 
hills  above  Plymouth  town,  and  there  laid  out  a  fine  park  and 
garden,  which  Thoreau  surveyed  for  him  in  the  autumn  of 
1854,  Alcott  and  Mr.  Watson  carrying  the  chain.  For  a  de 
scription  of  Hillside,  see  Channing's  Wanderer  (Boston,  1871) 
and  Alcott's  Sonnets  and  Canzonets  (Boston  :  Roberts,  1882). 
It  was  a  villa  much  visited  by  Emerson,  Alcott,  Channing, 
Thoreau,  George  Bradford,  and  the  Transcendentalists  gener 
ally.  Mr.  Watson  graduated  at  Harvard  two  years  after  Tho 
reau,  and  in  an  old  diary  says :  "  I  remember  Thoreau  in  the 
college  yard  (1836)  with  downcast  thoughtful  look  intent,  as 
if  he  were  searching  for  something  ;  always  in  a  green  coat, 
—  green  because  the  authorities  required  black,  I  suppose." 
In  a  letter  he  says  :  "  I  have  always  heard  the  '  Maiden  in  the 
East '  was  Mrs.  Watson,  —  Mary  Russell  Watson,  —  and  I  sup 
pose  there  is  no  doubt  of  it.  I  may  be  prejudiced,  but  I  have 
always  thought  it  one  of  his  best  things,  —  and  I  have  highly 
valued  his  lines.  I  find  in  my  Dial,  No.  6,  I  have  written  six 
new  stanzas  in  the  margin  of  Friendship,  and  they  are  num 
bered  to  show  how  they  should  run.  I  think  Mrs.  Brown  gave 
them  to  me." 

1  A  writer  on  scenery   and  natural  history,   who  outlived 


jsr.40.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  365 

of  a  contemporary  who  recognizes  Nature  so 
squarely,  and  selects  such  a  theme  as  "  Barns." 
(I  would  rather  "  Mount  Auburn  "  were  omit 
ted.)  But  he  is  not  alert  enough.  He  wants 
stirring  up  with  a  pole.  He  should  practice 
turning  a  series  of  somersets  rapidly,  or  jump 
up  and  see  how  many  times  he  can  strike  his 
feet  together  before  coming  down.  Let  him 
make  the  earth  turn  round  now  the  other  way, 
and  whet  his  wits  on  it,  whichever  way  it  goes, 
as  on  a  grindstone ;  in  short,  see  how  many 
ideas  he  can  entertain  at  once. 

His  style,  as  I  remember,  is  singularly  vague 
(I  refer  to  the  book),  and,  before  I  got  to  the 
end  of  the  sentences,  I  was  off  the  track.  If 
you  indulge  in  long  periods,  you  must  be  sure 
to  have  a  snapper  at  the  end.  As  for  style  of 
writing,  if  one  has  anything  to  say,  it  drops 
from  him  simply  and  directly,  as  a  stone  falls  to 
the  ground.  There  are  no  two  ways  about  it, 
but  down  it  comes,  and  he  may  stick  in  the 
points  and  stops  wherever  he  can  get  a  chance. 
New  ideas  come  into  this  world  somewhat  like 
falling  meteors,  with  a  flash  and  an  explosion, 
and  perhaps  somebody's  castle-roof  perforated. 
To  try  to  polish  the  stone  in  its  descent,  to  give 
it  a  peculiar  turn,  and  make  it  whistle  a  tune, 

Thoreau,  and  never  forgave  him  for  the  remark  about  "  stir 
ring1  up  with  a  pole,"  which  really  might  have  been  less  graphic. 


366  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS,         [1857, 

perchance,  would  be  of  no  use,  if  it  were  pos 
sible.  Your  polished  stuff  turns  out  not  to  be 
meteoric,  but  of  this  earth.  However,  there  is 
plenty  of  time,  and  Nature  is  an  admirable 
schoolmistress. 

Speaking  of  correspondence,  you  ask  me  if  I 
"  cannot  turn  over  a  new  leaf  in  that  line."  I 
certainly  could  if  I  were  to  receive  it ;  but  just 
then  I  looked  up  and  saw  that  your  page  was 
dated  "  May  10,"  though  mailed  in  August,  and 
it  occurred  to  me  that  I  had  seen  you  since  that 
date  this  year.  Looking  again,  it  appeared  that 
your  note  was  written  in  '56 !  !  However,  it 
was  a  new  leaf  to  me,  and  I  turned  it  over  with 
as  much  interest  as  if  it  had  been  written  the 
day  before.  Perhaps  you  kept  it  so  long  in 
order  that  the  manuscript  and  subject-matter 
might  be  more  in  keeping  with  the  old-fashioned 
paper  on  which  it  was  written. 

I  traveled  the  length  of  Cape  Cod  on  foot, 
soon  after  you  were  here,  and,  within  a  few  days, 
have  returned  from  the  wilds  of  Maine,  where 
I  have  made  a  journey  of  three  hundred  and 
twenty-five  miles  with  a  canoe  and  an  Indian, 
and  a  single  white  companion,  —  Edward  Hoar 
Esq.,  of  this  town,  lately  from  California,  — 
traversing  the  headwaters  of  the  Kennebec,  Pe- 
nobscot,  and  St.  John's. 

Can't  you  extract  any  advantage  out  of  that 


asT.40.]  TO  DANIEL   RICKETSON.  367 

depression  of  spirits  you  refer  to  ?  It  suggests 
to  me  cider-mills,  wine-presses,  etc.,  etc.  All 
kinds  of  pressure  or  power  should  be  used  and 
made  to  turn  some  kind  of  machinery. 

Channing  was  just  leaving  Concord  for  Plym 
outh  when  I  arrived,  but  said  he  should  be  here 
again  in  two  or  three  days. 

Please  remember  me  to  your  family,  and  say 
that  I  have  at  length  learned  to  sing  Tom  Bow- 
lin  according  to  the  notes. 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON     (AT    NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  September  9,  1857. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  invitation  to  visit  you,  but  I  have  taken  so 
many  vacations  this  year,  —  at  New  Bedford, 
Cape  Cod,  and  Maine,  —  that  any  more  relaxa 
tion  —  call  it  rather  dissipation  —  will  cover  me 
with  shame  and  disgrace.  I  have  not  earned 
what  I  have  already  enjoyed.  As  some  heads 
cannot  carry  much  wine,  so  it  would  seem  that 
I  cannot  bear  so  much  society  as  you  can.  I 
have  an  immense  appetite  for  solitude,  like  an 
infant  for  sleep,  and  if  I  don't  get  enough  of 
it  this  year,  I  shall  cry  all  the  next. 

My  mother's  house  is  full  at  present ;  but  if  it 
were  not,  I  would  have  no  right  to  invite  you 
hither,  while  entertaining  such  designs  as  I  have 
hinted  at,  However,  if  you  care  to  storm  the 


368          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

town,  I  will  engage  to  take  some  afternoon 
walks  with  you,  —  retiring  into  prof oundest  soli 
tude  the  most  sacred  part  of  the  day. 

TO   HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  August  18,  1857. 

ME.  BLAKE, — Fifteenthly.  It  seems  tome 
that  you  need  some  absorbing  pursuit.  It  does 
not  matter  much  what  it  is,  so  it  be  honest. 
Such  employment  will  be  favorable  to  your  de 
velopment  in  more  characteristic  and  important 
directions.  You  know  there  must  be  impulse 
enough  for  steerage  way,  though  it  be  not  to 
ward  your  port,  to  prevent  your  drifting  help 
lessly  on  to  rocks  or  shoals.  Some  sails  are 
set  for  this  purpose  only.  There  is  the  large 
fleet  of  scholars  and  men  of  science,  for  instance, 
always  to  be  seen  standing  off  and  on  every 
coast,  and  saved  thus  from  running  on  to  reefs, 
who  will  at  last  run  into  their  proper  haven,  we 
trust. 

It  is  a  pity  you  were  not  here  with  Brown  and 
Wiley.  I  think  that  in  this  case, /or  a  rarity, 
the  more  the  merrier. 

You  perceived  that  I  did  not  entertain  the 
idea  of  our  going  together  to  Maine  on  such  an 
excursion  as  I  had  planned.  The  more  I  thought 
of  it,  the  more  imprudent  it  appeared  to  me. 
I  did  think  to  have  written  to  you  before 


JBT.40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  369 

going,  though  not  to  propose  your  going  also ; 
but  I  went  at  last  very  suddenly,  and  could  only 
have  written  a  business  letter,  if  I  had  tried, 
when  there  was  no  business  to  be  accomplished. 
I  have  now  returned,  and  think  I  have  had  a 
quite  profitable  journey,  chiefly  from  associating 
with  an  intelligent  Indian.  My  companion, 
Edward  Hoar,  also  found  his  account  in  it, 
though  he  suffered  considerably  from  being 
obliged  to  carry  unusual  loads  over  wet  and 
rough  "  carries,"  —  in  one  instance  five  miles 
through  a  swamp,  where  the  water  was  fre 
quently  up  to  our  knees,  and  the  fallen  timber 
higher  than  our  heads.  He  went  over  the 
ground  three  times,  not  being  able  to  carry  all 
his  load  at  once.  This  prevented  his  ascending 
Ktaadn.  Our  best  nights  were  those  when  it 
rained  the  hardest,  on  account  of  the  mosquitoes. 
I  speak  of  these  things,  which  were  not  unex 
pected,  merely  to  account  for  my  not  inviting 
you. 

Having  returned,  I  flatter  myself  that  the 
world  appears  in  some  respects  a  little  larger, 
and  not,  as  usual,  smaller  and  shallower,  for 
having  extended  my  range.  I  have  made  a 
short  excursion  into  the  new  world  which  the  In 
dian  dwells  in,  or  is.  He  begins  where  we  leave 
off.  It  is  worth  the  while  to  detect  new  facul 
ties  in  man,  —  he  is  so  much  the  more  divine  ; 


370          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

and  anything  that  fairly  excites  our  admiration 
expands  us.  The  Indian,  who  can  find  his  way 
so  wonderfully  in  the  woods,  possesses  so  much 
intelligence  which  the  white  man  does  not,  — 
and  it  increases  my  own  capacity,  as  well  as 
faith,  to  observe  it.  I  rejoice  to  find  that  intel 
ligence  flows  in  other  channels  than  I  knew.  It 
redeems  for  me  portions  of  what  seemed  bru 
tish  before. 

It  is  a  great  satisfaction  to  find  that  your 
oldest  convictions  are  permanent.  With  re 
gard  to  essentials,  I  have  never  had  occasion 
to  change  my  mind.  The  aspect  of  the  world 
varies  from  year  to  year,  as  the  landscape  is 
differently  clothed,  but  I  find  that  the  truth  is 
still  true,  and  I  never  regret  any  emphasis  which 
it  may  have  inspired.  Ktaadn  is  there  still,  but 
much  more  surely  my  old  conviction  is  there, 
resting  with  more  than  mountain  breadth  and 
weight  on  the  world,  the  source  still  of  fertiliz 
ing  streams,  and  affording  glorious  views  from 
its  summit,  if  I  can  get  up  to  it  again.  As  the 
mountains  still  stand  on  the  plain,  and  far 
more  unchangeable  and  permanent,  --  stand 
still  grouped  around,  farther  or  nearer  to  my 
maturer  eye,  the  ideas  which  I  have  entertained, 
—  the  everlasting  teats  from  which  we  draw  our 
nourishment. 


JET.  40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  371 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  November  16,  1857. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  You  have  got  the  start  again. 
It  was  I  that  owed  you  a  letter  or  two,  if  I  mis 
take  not. 

They  make  a  great  ado  nowadays  about  hard 
times ; 1  but  I  think  that  the  community  gener 
ally,  ministers  and  all,  take  a  wrong  view  of  the 
matter,  though  some  of  the  ministers  preaching 
according  to  a  formula  may  pretend  to  take  a 
right  one.  This  general  failure,  both  private 
and  public,  is  rather  occasion  for  rejoicing,  as 
reminding  us  whom  we  have  at  the  helm,  —  that 
justice  is  always  done.  If  our  merchants  did  not 
most  of  them  fail,  and  the  banks  too,  my  faith  in 
the  old  laws  of  the  world  would  be  staggered. 
The  statement  that  ninety-six  in  a  hundred  doing 
such  business  surely  break  down  is  perhaps  the 
sweetest  fact  that  statistics  have  revealed,  —  ex 
hilarating  as  the  fragrance  of  sallows  in  spring. 
Does  it  not  say  somewhere,  "  The  Lord  reigneth, 
let  the  earth  rejoice  "  ?  If  thousands  are  thrown 
out  of  employment,  it  suggests  that  they  were 
not  well  employed.  Why  don't  they  take  the 
hint  ?  It  is  not  enough  to  be  industrious ;  so  are 
the  ants.  What  are  you  industrious  about  ? 

The  merchants  and  company  have  long  laughed 

1  The  panic  of  1857,  —  the  worst  since  1837. 


372          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

at  transcendentalism,  higher  laws,  etc.,  crying, 
"  None  of  your  moonshine,"  as  if  they  were  an 
chored  to  something  not  only  definite,  but  sure 
and  permanent.  If  there  was  any  institution 
which  was  presumed  to  rest  on  a  solid  and  secure 
basis,  and  more  than  any  other  represented  this 
boasted  common  sense,  prudence,  and  practical 
talent,  it  was  the  bank ;  and  now  those  very  banks 
are  found  to  be  mere  reeds  shaken  by  the  wind. 
Scarcely  one  in  the  land  has  kept  its  promise. 
It  would  seem  as  if  you  only  need  live  forty  years 
in  any  age  of  this  world,  to  see  its  most  promis 
ing  government  become  the  government  of  Kan 
sas,  and  banks  nowhere.  Not  merely  the  Brook 
Farm  and  Fourierite  communities,  but  now  the 
community  generally  has  failed.  But  there  is 
the  moonshine  still,  serene,  beneficent,  and  un 
changed.  Hard  times,  I  say,  have  this  value, 
among  others,  that  they  show  us  what  such  prom 
ises  are  worth,  —  where  the  sure  banks  are.  I 
heard  some  merchant  praised  the  other  day  be 
cause  he  had  paid  some  of  his  debts,  though  it 
took  nearly  all  he  had  (why,  I  've  done  as  much 
as  that  myself  many  times,  and  a  little  more), 
and  then  gone  to  board.  What  if  he  has  ?  I 
hope  he  's  got  a  good  boarding-place,  and  can 
pay  for  it.  It 's  not  everybody  that  can.  How 
ever,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  cheaper  to  keep  house, 
—  i.  e.,  if  you  don't  keep  too  big  a  one. 


2ET.40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  373 

Men  will  tell  you  sometimes  that  "  money 's 
hard."  That  shows  it  was  not  made  to  eat,  I 
say.  Only  think  of  a  man  in  this  new  world,  in 
his  log  cabin,  in  the  midst  of  a  corn  and  potato 
patch,  with  a  sheepf  old  on  one  side,  talking  about 
money  being  hard !  So  are  flints  hard ;  there  is 
no  alloy  in  them.  What  has  that  to  do  with  his 
raising  his  food,  cutting  his  wood  (or  breaking 
it),  keeping  in-doors  when  it  rains,  and,  if  need 
be,  spinning  and  weaving  his  clothes  ?  Some  of 
those  who  sank  with  the  steamer  the  other  day 
found  out  that  money  was  heavy  too.  Think  of 
a  man's  priding  himself  on  this  kind  of  wealth, 
as  if  it  greatly  enriched  him.  As  if  one  strug 
gling  in  mid-ocean  with  a  bag  of  gold  on  his 
back  should  gasp  out,  "  I  am  worth  a  hundred 
thousand  dollars."  I  see  them  struggling  just 
as  ineffectually  on  dry  land,  nay,  even  more 
hopelessly,  for,  in  the  former  case,  rather  than 
sink,  they  will  finally  let  the  bag  go ;  but  in  the 
latter  they  are  pretty  sure  to  hold  and  go  down 
with  it.  I  see  them  swimming  about  in  their 
great-coats,  collecting  their  rents,  really  getting 
their  dues,  drinking  bitter  draughts  which  only 
increase  their  thirst,  becoming  more  and  more 
water-logged,  till  finally  they  sink  plumb  down 
to  the  bottom.  But  enough  of  this. 

Have  you  ever  read  Ruskin's  books  ?  If  not, 
I  would  recommend  you  to  try  the  second  and 


374          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

third  volumes  (not  parts)  of  his  "  Modern  Paint 
ers."  I  am  now  reading  the  fourth,  and  have 
read  most  of  his  other  books  lately.  They  are 
singularly  good  and  encouraging,  though  not 
without  crudeness  and  bigotry.  The  themes  in 
the  volumes  referred  to  are  Infinity,  Beauty, 
Imagination,  Love  of  Nature,  etc.,  —  all  treated 
in  a  very  living  manner.  I  am  rather  surprised 
by  them.  It  is  remarkable  that  these  things 
should  be  said  with  reference  to  painting  chiefly, 
rather  than  literature.  The  "  Seven  Lamps  of 
Architecture,"  too,  is  made  of  good  stuff:  but, 
as  I  remember,  there  is  too  much  about  art  in  it 
for  me  and  the  Hottentots.  We  want  to  know 
about  matters  and  things  in  general.  Our  house 
is  as  yet  a  hut. 

You  must  have  been  enriched  by  your  solitary 
walk  over  the  mountains.  I  suppose  that  I  feel 
the  same  awe  when  on  their  summits  that  many 
do  on  entering  a  church.  To  see  what  kind  of 
earth  that  is  on  which  you  have  a  house  and  gar 
den  somewhere,  perchance !  It  is  equal  to  the 
lapse  of  many  years.  You  must  ascend  a  moun 
tain  to  learn  your  relation  to  matter,  and  so  to 
your  own  body,  for  it  is  at  home  there,  though 
you  are  not.  It  might  have  been  composed 
there,  and  will  have  no  farther  to  go  to  return 
to  dust  there,  than  in  your  garden;  but  your 
spirit  inevitably  comes  away,  and  brings  your 


2ET.40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  375 

body  with  it,  if  it  lives.  Just  as  awful  really, 
and  as  glorious,  is  your  garden.  See  how  I  can. 
play  with  my  fingers!  They  are  the  funniest 
companions  I  have  ever  found.  Where  did  they 
come  from  ?  What  strange  control  I  have  over 
them !  Who  am  I  ?  What  are  they  ?  —  those 
little  peaks  —  call  them  Madison,  Jefferson,  La 
fayette.  What  is  the  matter  ?  My  fingers  ten, 
I  say.  Why,  erelong,  they  may  form  the  top 
most  crystal  of  Mount  Washington.  I  go  up 
there  to  see  my  body's  cousins.  There  are  some 
fingers,  toes,  bowels,  etc.,  that  I  take  an  interest 
in,  and  therefore  I  am  interested  in  all  their 
relations. 

Let  me  suggest  a  theme  for  you  :  to  state  to 
yourself  precisely  and  completely  what  that  walk 
over  the  mountains  amounted  to  for  you,  —  re 
turning  to  this  essay  again  and  again,  until  you 
are  satisfied  that  all  that  was  important  in  your 
experience  is  in  it.  Give  this  good  reason  to 
yourself  for  having  gone  over  the  mountains,  for 
mankind  is  ever  going  over  a  mountain.  Don't 
suppose  that  you  can  tell  it  precisely  the  first 
dozen  times  you  try,  but  at  'em  again,  especially 
when,  after  a  sufficient  pause,  you  suspect  that 
you  are  touching  the  heart  or  summit  of  the  mat 
ter,  reiterate  your  blows  there,  and  account  for 
the  mountain  to  yourself.  Not  that  the  story 
need  be  long,  but  it  will  take  a  long  while  to 


376          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

make  it  short.  It  did  not  take  very  long  to  get 
over  the  mountain,  you  thought ;  but  have  you 
got  over  it  indeed  ?  If  you  have  been  to  the  top 
of  Mount  Washington,  let  me  ask,  what  did  you 
find  there?  That  is  the  way  they  prove  wit 
nesses,  you  know.  Going  up  there  and  being- 
blown  on  is  nothing.  We  never  do  much  climb 
ing  while  we  are  there,  but  we  eat  our  luncheon, 
etc.,  very  much  as  at  home.  It  is  after  we  get 
home  that  we  really  go  over  the  mountain,  if  ever. 
What  did  the  mountain  say?  What  did  the 
mountain  do  ? 

I  keep  a  mountain  anchored  off  eastward  a  lit 
tle  way,  which  I  ascend  in  my  dreams  both  awake 
and  asleep.  Its  broad  base  spreads  over  a  vil 
lage  or  two,  which  do  not  know  it ;  neither  does 
it  know  them,  nor  do  I  when  I  ascend  it.  I  can 
see  its  general  outline  as  plainly  now  in  nry  mind 
as  that  of  Wachusett.  I  do  not  invent  in  the 
least,  but  state  exactly  what  I  see.  I  find  that 
I  go  up  it  when  I  am  light-footed  and  earnest. 
It  ever  smokes  like  an  altar  with  its  sacrifice.  I 
am  not  aware  that  a  single  villager  frequents  it 
or  knows  of  it.  I  keep  this  mountain  to  ride 
instead  of  a  horse. 

Do  you  not  mistake  about  seeing  Moosehead 
Lake  from  Mount  Washington  ?  That  must  be 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  distant,  or 
nearly  twice  as  far  as  the  Atlantic,  which  last 


/ET.40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  377 

some  doubt  if  they  can  see  thence.  Was  it  not 
Umbagog  ? 

Dr.  Solger 1  has  been  lecturing  in  the  vestry 
in  this  town  on  Geography,  to  Sanborn's  schol 
ars,  for  several  months  past,  at  five  P.  M.  Emer 
son  and  Alcott  have  been  to  hear  him.  I  was 
surprised  when  the  former  asked  me,  the  other 
day,  if  I  was  not  going  to  hear  Dr.  Solger.  What, 
to  be  sitting  in  a  meeting-house  cellar  at  that  time 
of  day,  when  you  might  possibly  be  out-doors ! 
I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing.  What  was 
the  sun  made  for?  If  he  does  not  prize  day 
light,  I  do.  Let  him  lecture  to  owls  and  dor- 

O 

mice.  He  must  be  a  wonderful  lecturer  indeed 
who  can  keep  me  indoors  at  such  an  hour, 
when  the  night  is  coming  in  which  no  man  can 
walk. 

Are  you  in  want  of  amusement  nowadays  ? 
Then  play  a  little  at  the  game  of  getting  a  living. 
There  never  was  anything  equal  to  it.  Do  it 
temperately,  though,  and  don't  sweat.  Don't  let 
this  secret  out,  for  I  have  a  design  against  the 

1  Reinhold  Solger,  Ph.  D.,  —  a  very  intellectual  and  well- 
taught  Prussian,  who  was  one  of  the  lecturers  for  a  year  or  two 
at  nay  "  Concord  School,"  the  successor  of  the  Concord  "  Acad 
emy,"  in  which  the  children  of  the  Emerson,  Alcott,  Haw 
thorne,  Hoar,  and  Ripley  families  were  taught.  At  this  date 
the  lectures  were  given  in  the  vestry  of  the  parish  church, 
which  Thoreau  playfully  termed  "  a  meeting-house  cellar."  It 
was  there  that  Louisa  Alcott  acted  plays. 


378          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1857, 

Opera.    OPERA  !  !    Pass  along  the  exclamations, 
devil.1 

Now  is  the  time  to  become  conversant  with 
your  wood-pile  (this  comes  under  Work  for  the 
Month),  and  be  sure  you  put  some  warmth  into 
it  by  your  mode  of  getting  it.  Do  not  consent 
to  be  passively  warmed.  An  intense  degree  of 
that  is  the  hotness  that  is  threatened.  But  a 
positive  warmth  within  can  withstand  the  fiery 
furnace,  as  the  vital  heat  of  a  living  man  can 
withstand  the  heat  that  cooks  meat. 

After  returning  from  the  last  of  his  three  ex 
peditions  to  the  Maine  woods  (in  1846,  1853, 
and  1857),  Thoreau  was  appealed  to  by  his 
friend  Higginson,  then  living  in  Worcester,  for 
information  concerning  a  proposed  excursion 
from  Worcester  into  Maine  and  Canada,  then 
but  little  visited  by  tourists,  who  now  go  there 
in  droves.  He  replied  in  this  long  letter,  with 
its  minute  instructions  and  historical  references. 
The  Arnold  mentioned  is  General  Benedict  Ar 
nold,  who  in  1775-76  made  a  toilsome  march 
through  the  Maine  forest  with  a  small  New  Eng 
land  army  for  the  conquest  of  Canada,  while 
young  John  Thoreau,  Henry's  grandfather,  was 
establishing  himself  as  a  merchant  in  Boston 
(not  yet  evacuated  by  British  troops),  previous 
to  his  marriage  with  Jane  Burns. 

1  Exclamation  points  and  printer's  devil. 


MT.  40.]  TO   T.    W.  HIGGINSON.  379 

TO   T.    W.    HIGGINSON    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  January  28,  1858. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  It  would  be  perfectly  practica 
ble  to  go  to  the  Madawaska  the  way  you  pro 
pose.  As  for  the  route  to  Quebec,  I  do  not  find 
the  Sugar  Loaf  Mountains  on  my  maps.  The 
most  direct  and  regular  way,  as  you  know,  is 
substantially  Montresor's  and  Arnold's  and  the 
younger  John  Smith's  —  by  the  Chaudiere  ;  but 
this  is  less  wild.  If  your  object  is  to  see  the  St. 
Lawrence  Eiver  below  Quebec,  you  will  proba 
bly  strike  it  at  the  Riviere  du  Loup.  ( Vide 
Hodge's  account  of  his  excursion  thither  via  the 
Allegash,  —  I  believe  it  is  in  the  second  Report 
on  the  Geology  of  the  Public  Lands  of  Maine 
and  Massachusetts  in  '37.)  I  think  that  our 
Indian  last  summer,  when  we  talked  of  going  to 
the  St.  Lawrence,  named  another  route,  near  the 
Madawaska,  —  perhaps  the  St.  Francis,  —  which 
would  save  the  long  portage  which  Hodge  made. 

I  do  not  know  whether  you  think  of  ascend 
ing  the  St.  Lawrence  in  a  canoe ;  but  if  you 
should,  you  might  be  delayed  not  only  by  the 
current,  but  by  the  waves,  which  frequently  run 
too  high  for  a  canoe  on  such  a  mighty  stream. 
It  would  be  a  grand  excursion  to  go  to  Quebec 
by  the  Chaudiere,  descend  the  St.  Lawrence  to 
the  Riviere  du  Loup,  and  return  by  the  Mada- 


380          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

waska  and  St.  John's  to  Frederickton,  or  fais. 
ther,  —  almost  all  the  way  down  stream  —  a  very 
important  consideration. 

I  went  to  Moosehead  in  company  with  a  party 
of  four  who  were  going  a-hunting  down  the  Alle- 
gash  and  St.  John's,  and  thence  by  some  other 
stream  over  into  the  Restigouche,  and  down  that 
to  the  Bay  of  Chaleur,  —  to  be  gone  six  weeks. 
Our  northern  terminus  was  an  island  in  Heron 
Lake  on  the  Allegash.  (  Vide  Colton's  railroad 
and  township  map  of  Maine.) 

The  Indian  proposed  that  we  should  return  to 
Bangor  by  the  St.  John's  and  Great  Schoodic 
Lake,  which  we  had  thought  of  ourselves ;  and 
he  showed  us  on  the  map  where  we  should  be 
each  night.  It  was  then  noon,  and  the  next  day 
night,  continuing  down  the  Allegash,  we  should 
have  been  at  the  Mada waska  settlements,  having 
made  only  one  or  two  portages ;  and  thereafter, 
on  the  St.  John's  there  would  be  but  one  or  two 
more  falls,  with  short  carries ;  and  if  there  was 
not  too  much  wind,  we  could  go  down  that 
stream  one  hundred  miles  a  day.  It  is  settled 
all  the  way  below  Madawaska.  He  knew  the 
route  well.  He  even  said  that  this  was  easier, 
and  would  take  but  little  more  time,  though 
much  farther,  than  the  route  we  decided  on,  — 
i.  e.,  by  Webster  Stream,  the  East  Branch,  and 
main  Penobscot  to  Oldtown ;  but  he  may  have 


arr.40.]  TO   T.   W.  HIGGINSON.  381 

wanted  a  longer  job.  We  preferred  the  latter, 
not  only  because  it  was  shorter,  but  because,  as 
he  said,  it  was  wilder. 

We  went  about  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
miles  with  the  canoe  (including  sixty  miles  of 
stage  between  Bangor  and  Oldtown) ;  were  out 
twelve  nights,  and  spent  about  $40  apiece,  — 
which  was  more  than  was  necessary.  We  paid 
the  Indian,  who  was  a  very  good  one,  $  1.50  per 
day  and  50  cents  a  week  for  his  canoe.  This  is 
enough  in  ordinary  seasons.  I  had  formerly 
paid  $2  for  an  Indian  and  for  white  batteau- 
men. 

If  you  go  to  Madawaska  in  a  leisurely  man 
ner,  supposing  no  delay  011  account  of  rain  or 
the  violence  of  the  wind,  you  may  reach  Mt. 
Kineo  by  noon,  and  have  the  afternoon  to  ex 
plore  it.  The  next  day  you  may  get  to  the  head 
of  the  lake  before  noon,  make  the  portage  of 
two  and  a  half  miles  over  a  wooden  railroad,  and 
drop  down  the  Penobscot  half  a  dozen  miles. 
The  third  morning  you  will  perhaps  walk  half  a 
mile  about  Pine  Stream  Falls,  while  the  Indian 
runs  down,  —  cross  the  head  of  Chesuncook, 
reach  the  junction  of  the  Caucomgomock  and 
Umbazookskus  by  noon,  and  ascend  the  latter 
to  Umbazookskus  Lake  that  night.  If  it  is  low 
water,  you  may  have  to  walk  and  carry  a  little 
on  the  Umbazookskus  before  entering  the  lake. 


382          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

The  fourth  morning  you  will  make  the  carry  of 
two  miles  to  Mud  Pond  (Allegash  Water),  —  and 
a  very  wet  carry  it  is,  —  and  reach  Chamberlain 
Lake  by  noon,  and  Heron  Lake,  perhaps,  that 
night,  after  a  couple  of  very  short  carries  at  the 
outlet  of  Chamberlain.  At  the  end  of  two  days 
more  you  will  probably  be  at  Madawaska.  Of 
course  the  Indian  can  paddle  twice  as  far  in  a 
day  as  he  commonly  does. 

Perhaps  you  would  like  a  few  more  details. 
We  used  (three  of  us)  exactly  twenty-six  pounds 
of  hard  bread,  fourteen  pounds  of  pork,  three 
pounds  of  coffee,  twelve  pounds  of  sugar  (and 
could  have  used  more),  besides  a  little  tea,  In 
dian  meal,  and  rice,  —  and  plenty  of  berries  and 
moose-meat.  This  was  faring  very  luxuriously. 
I  had  not  formerly  carried  coffee,  sugar,  or  rice. 
But  for  solid  food,  I  decide  that  it  is  not  worth 
the  while  to  carry  anything  but  hard  bread  and 
pork,  whatever  your  tastes  and  habits  may  be. 
These  wear  best,  and  you  have  no  time  nor 
dishes  in  which  to  cook  anything  else.  Of 
course  you  will  take  a  little  Indian  meal  to  fry 
fish  in ;  and  half  a  dozen  lemons  also,  if  you 
have  sugar,  will  be  very  refreshing,  —  for  the 
water  is  warm.1 

1  Charming  says  (Thoreau,  p.  35):  "Thoreau  made  for 
himself  a  knapsack,  with  partitions  for  books  and  papers,  — 
India-rubber  cloth,  strong  and  large-spaced, — the  common 


JET.  40.]  TO   T.  W.  HIGGINSON.  383 

To  save  time,  the  sugar,  coffee,  tea,  salt,  etc., 
should  be  in  separate  watertight  bags,  labeled, 
and  tied  with  a  leathern  string ;  and  all  the  pro 
visions  and  blankets  should  be  put  into  two 
large  India-rubber  bags,  if  you  can  find  them 
watertight.  Ours  were  not.  A  four-quart  tin 
pail  makes  a  good  kettle  for  all  purposes,  and 
tin  plates  are  portable  and  convenient.  Don't 
forget  an  India-rubber  knapsack,  with  a  large 
flap,  —  plenty  of  dish-cloths,  old  newspapers, 
strings,  and  twenty-five  feet  of  strong  cord.  Of 
India-rubber  clothing,  the  most  you  can  wear,  if 
any,  is  a  very  light  coat,  —  and  that  you  cannot 
work  in.  I  could  be  more  particular,  —  but  per 
haps  have  been  too  much  so  already. 

Of  his  habits  in  mountain-climbing,  Channing 
says : l  "  He  ascended  such  hills  as  Monadnoc 
by  his  own  path ;  would  lay  down  his  map  on 
the  summit  and  draw  a  line  to  the  point  he  pro 
posed  to  visit  below,  —  perhaps  forty  miles  away 
on  the  landscape,  and  set  off  bravely  to  make  the 
c  short-cut.'  The  lowland  people  wondered  to 

knapsacks  being  unspaced.  After  trying  the  merit  of  cocoa, 
coffee,  water,  and  the  like,  tea  was  put  down  as  the  felicity  of 
a  walking  travail,  —  tea  plenty,  strong,  with  enough  sugar, 
made  in  a  tin  pint  cup.  He  commended  every  party  to  carry 
'  a  junk  of  heavy  cake  '  with  plums  in  it,  —  having  found  by 
long  experience  that  after  toil  it  was  a  capital  refreshment." 
1  Thoreau,  the  Poet-Naturalist,  pp.  36-38. 


384          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

see  him  scaling  the  heights  as  if  he  had  lost  his 
way,  or  at  his  jumping  over  their  cow-yard 
fences, —  asking  if  he  had  fallen  from  the  clouds. 
In  a  walk  like  this  he  always  carried  his  um 
brella  ;  and  on  this  Monadnoc  trip,  when  about 
a  mile  from  the  station  (in  Troy,  N.  H.),  a  tor 
rent  of  rain  came  down ;  without  the  umbrella 
his  books,  blankets,  maps,  and  provisions  would 
all  have  been  spoiled,  or  the  morning  lost  by  de 
lay.  On  the  mountain  there  being  a  thick,  soak 
ing  fog,  the  first  object  was  to  camp  and  make 
tea.  He  spent  five  nights  in  camp,  having  built 
another  hut,  to  get  varied  views.  Flowers,  birds, 
lichens,  and  the  rocks  were  carefully  examined, 
all  parts  of  the  mountain  were  visited,  and  as 
accurate  a  map  as  could  be  made  by  pocket  com 
pass  was  carefully  sketched  and  drawn  out,  in 
the  five  days  spent  there,  —  with  notes  of  the 
striking  aerial  phenomena,  incidents  of  travel 
and  natural  history.  The  outlook  across  the  val 
ley  over  to  Wachusett,  with  its  thunder-storms 
and  battles  in  the  cloud;  the  farmers'  back 
yards  in  Jaffrey,  where  the  family  cotton  can  be 
seen  bleaching  on  the  grass,  but  110  trace  of  the 
pigmy  family;  the  dry,  soft  air  all  night,  the 
lack  of  dew  in  the  morning  ;  the  want  of  water, 
—  a  pint  being  a  good  deal,  —  these,  and  similar 
things  make  up  some  part  of  such  an  excur- 


SST.  40.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  385 

The  Monadnoc  excursion  above  mentioned 
began  June  3d,  and  continued  three  days.  It 
inspired  Thoreau  to  take  a  longer  mountain 
tour  with  his  neighbor  and  friend,  Edward 
Hoar,  to  which  these  letters  relate,  giving  the 
ways  and  means  of  the  journey,  —  a  memorable 
one  to  all  concerned. 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  June  29,  1858,  8  A.  M. 

ME.  BLAKE,  —  Edward  Hoar  and  I  propose 
to  start  for  the  White  Mountains  in  a  covered 
wagon,  with  one  horse,  on  the  morning  of  Thurs 
day  the  1st  of  July,  intending  to  explore  the 
mountain  tops  botanically,  and  camp  on  them 
at  least  several  times.  Will  you  take  a  seat  in 
the  wagon  with  us  ?  Mr.  Hoar  prefers  to  hire 
the  horse  and  wagon  himself.  Let  us  hear  by 
express,  as  soon  as  you  can,  whether  you  will 
join  us  here  by  the  earliest  train  Thursday 
morning,  or  Wednesday  night.  Bring  your  map 
of  the  mountains,  and  as  much  provision  for  the 
road  as  you  can,  —  hard  bread,  sugar,  tea,  meat, 
etc.,  —  for  we  intend  to  live  like  gipsies ;  also, 
a  blanket  and  some  thick  clothes  for  the  moun 
tain  top. 

July  1st.  Last  Monday  evening  Mr.  Edward 
Hoar  said  that  he  thought  of  going  to  the  White 


386          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

Mountains.  I  remarked  casually  that  I  should 
like  to  go  well  enough  if  I  could  afford  it. 
Whereupon  he  declared  that  if  I  would  go  with 
him,  he  would  hire  a  horse  and  wagon,  so  that 
the  ride  would  cost  me  nothing,  and  we  would 
explore  the  mountain  tops  botanically,  camping 
on  them  many  nights.  The  next  morning  I 
suggested  you  and  Brown's  accompanying  us 
in  another  wagon,  and  we  could  all  camp  and 
cook,  gipsy-like,  along  the  way,  —  or,  perhaps, 
if  the  horse  could  draw  us,  you  would  like  to 
bear  half  the  expense  of  the  horse  and  wagon, 
and  take  a  seat  with  us.  He  liked  either  propo 
sition,  but  said,  that  if  you  would  take  a  seat 
with  us,  he  would  prefer  to  hire  the  horse  and 
wagon  himself.  You  could  contribute  something 
else  if  you  pleased.  Supposing  that  Brown 
would  be  confined,  I  wrote  to  you  accordingly, 
by  express  on  Tuesday  morning,  via  Boston, 
stating  that  we  should  start  to-day,  suggesting 
provision,  thick  clothes,  etc.,  and  asking  for  an 
answer ;  but  I  have  not  received  one.  I  have 
just  heard  that  you  may  be  at  Sterling,  and  now 
write  to  say  that  we  shall  still  be  glad  if  you 
will  join  us  at  Senter  Harbor,  where  we  expect 
to  be  next  Monday  morning.  In  any  case,  will 
you  please  direct  a  letter  to  us  there  at  once  ? 


4ST.40.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  387 

TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  June  30,  1858. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  am  on  the  point  of 
starting  for  the  White  Mountains  in  a  wagon 
with  my  neighbor  Edward  Hoar,  and  I  write  to 
you  now  rather  to  apologize  for  not  writing,  than 
to  answer  worthily  your  three  notes.  I  thank 
you  heartily  for  them.  You  will  not  care  for  a 
little  delay  in  acknowledging  them,  since  your 
date  shows  that  you  can  afford  to  wait.  Indeed, 
my  head  has  been  so  full  of  company,  etc.,  that 
I  could  not  reply  to  you  fitly  before,  nor  can  I 
now. 

As  for  preaching  to  men  these  days  in  the 
Walden  strain,  is  it  of  any  consequence  to 
preach  to  an  audience  of  men  who  can  fail,  or 
who  can  be  revived  ?  There  are  few  beside.  Is 
it  any  success  to  interest  these  parties  ?  If  a 
man  has  speculated  and  failed,  he  will  probably 
do  these  things  again,  in  spite  of  you  or  me.  I 
confess  that  it  is  rare  that  I  rise  to  sentiment  in 
my  relations  to  men,  —  ordinarily  to  a  mere  pa 
tient,  or  may  be  wholesome,  good-will.  I  can 
imagine  something  more,  but  the  truth  compels 
me  to  regard  the  ideal  and  the  actual  as  two 
things. 

Channing  has  come,  and  as  suddenly  gone, 
and  left  a  short  poem,  "Near  Home,"  pub- 


388          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

lished  (?)  or  printed  by  Munroe,  which  I  have 
hardly  had  time  to  glance  at.  As  you  may 
guess,  I  learn  nothing  of  you  from  him. 

You  already  foresee  my  answer  to  your  invita 
tion  to  make  you  a  summer  visit :  I  am  bound 
for  the  mountains.  But  I  trust  that  you  have 
vanquished,  ere  this,  those  dusky  demons  that 
seem  to  lurk  around  the  Head  of  the  River.1 
You  know  that  this  warfare  is  nothing  but  a 
kind  of  nightmare,  and  it  is  our  thoughts  alone 
which  give  those  ?mworthies  any  body  or  exist 
ence. 

I  made  an  excursion  with  Blake,  of  Worces 
ter,  to  Monadnoc,  a  few  weeks  since.  We  took 
our  blankets  and  food,  spent  two  nights  on  the 
mountain,  and  did  not  go  into  a  house. 

Alcott  has  been  very  busy  for  a  long  time  re 
pairing  an  old  shell  of  a  house,  and  I  have  seen 
very  little  of  him.2  I  have  looked  more  at  the 
houses  which  birds  build.  Watson  made  us  all 
very  generous  presents  from  his  nursery  in  the 
spring.  Especially  did  he  remember  Alcott. 

Excuse  me  for  not  writing  any  more  at  pres 
ent,  and  remember  me  to  your  family. 

1  Near  which,  at  New  Bedford,  Mr.  Ricketson  lived. 

2  This  was  the  "  Orchard  House,"  near  Hawthorne's  "Way 
side."     The  estate  on  which  it  stands,  now  owned  by  Dr.  W. 
T.  Harris,  was  surveyed  for  Mr.  Alcott  by  Thoreau  in  October, 

1857, 


MT.  41.]         WHITE  MOUNTAIN  TRIP.  389 

In  July,  1858,  as  mentioned  in  this  letter  to 
Mr.  Bicketson,  Thoreau  journeyed  from  Con 
cord  to  the  White  Mountains,  first  visited  with 
his  brother  John  in  1839.  His  later  companion 
was  Edward  Hoar,  a  botanist  and  lover  of  na 
ture,  who  had  been  a  magistrate  in  California, 
and  in  boyhood  a  comrade  of  Thoreau  in  shoot 
ing  excursions  on  the  Concord  meadows.  They 
journeyed  in  a  wagon  and  Thoreau  disliked  the 
loss  of  independence  in  choice  of  camping-places 
involved  in  the  care  of  a  horse.  He  complained 
also  of  the  magnificent  inns  ("mountain  houses  ") 
that  had  sprung  up  in  the  passes  and  on  the 
plateaus  since  his  first  visit.  "  Give  me,"  he 
said,  "  a  spruce  house  made  in  the  rain,"  such 
as  he  and  Channing  afterward  (1860)  made  on 
Monadnoc  in  his  last  trip  to  that  mountain. 
The  chief  exploit  in  the  White  Mountain  trip 
was  a  visit  to  Tuckerman's  Ravine  on  Mt.  Wash 
ington,  of  which  Mr.  Hoar,  some  years  before 
his  death  (in  1893),  gave  me  an  account,  con 
taining  the  true  anecdote  of  Thoreau's  finding 
the  arnica  plant  when  he  needed  it. 

On  their  way  to  this  rather  inaccessible  chasm, 
Thoreau  and  his  comrade  went  first  to  what 
was  then  but  a  small  tavern  on  the  "  tip-top " 
of  Mt.  Washington.  It  was  a  foggy  day ;  and 
when  the  landlord  was  asked  if  he  could  furnish 
a  guide  to  Tuckerman's  Ravine,  he  replied : 


390  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.       [1858, 

"  Yes,  my  brother  is  the  guide ;  but  if  he  went 
to-day  he  could  never  find  his  way  back  in  this 
fog."  "  Well,"  said  Thoreau,  "  if  we  cannot 
have  a  guide  we  will  find  it  ourselves ;  "  and  he 
at  once  produced  a  map  he  had  made  the  day 
before  at  a  roadside  inn,  where  he  had  found  a 
wall  map  of  the  mountain  region,  and  climbed 
on  a  table  to  copy  that  portion  he  needed.  With 
this  map  and  his  pocket-compass  he  "  struck  a 
bee-line,"  said  Mr.  Hoar,  for  the  ravine,  and  soon 
came  to  it,  about  a  mile  away.  They  went  safely 
down  the  steep  stairs  into  the  chasm,  where 
they  found  the  midsummer  iceberg  they  wished 
to  see.  But  as  the;y*  walked  down  the  bed  of  the 
Peabody  River,  flowing  from  this  ravine,  over 
bowlders  five  or  six  feet  high,  the  heavy  packs  on 
their  shoulders  weighed  them  down,  and  finally, 
Thoreau's  foot  slipping,  he  fell  and  sprained  his 
ankle.  He  rose,  but  had  not  limped  five  steps 
from  the  place  where  he  fell,  when  he  said,  "  Here 
is  the  arnica,  anyhow,"  —  reached  out  his  hand 
and  plucked  the  Arnica  mollis,  which  he  had 
not  before  found  anywhere.  Before  reaching 
the  mountains  they  had  marked  in  their  botany 
books  forty-six  species  of  plants  they  hoped  to 
find  there,  and  before  they  came  away  they  had 
found  forty-two  of  them. 

When  they  reached  their  camping-place,  far 
ther  down,  Thoreau  was  so  lame  he  could  not 


2ET.  41.]          WHITE  MOUNTAIN  TRIP.  391 

move  about,  and  lay  there  in  the  camp  several 
days,  eating  the  pork  and  other  supplies  they 
had  in  their  packs,  Mr.  Hoar  going  each  day  to 
the  inn  at  the  mountain  summit.  This  camp  was 
in  a  thicket  of  dwarf  firs  at  the  foot  of  the  ra 
vine,  where,  just  before  his  accident,  by  careless 
ness  in  lighting  a  fire,  some  acres  of  the  moun 
tain  woodland  had  been  set  on  fire ;  but  this 
proved  to  be  the  signal  for  which  Thoreau  had 
told  his  Worcester  friends  to  watch,  if  they 
wished  to  join  him  on  the  mountain.  "  I  had 
told  Blake,"  says  Thoreau  in  his  journal,  "  to 
look  out  for  a  smoke  and  a  white  tent.  We  had 
made  a  smoke  sure  enough.  We  slept  five  in 
the  tent  that  night,  and  found  it  quite  warm." 
Mr.  Hoar  added:  "In  this  journey  Thoreau 
insisted  011  our  carrying  heavy  packs,  and  rather 
despised  persons  who  complained  of  the  burden. 
He  was  chagrined,  in  the  Maine  woods,  to  find 
his  Indian,  Joe  Polis  (whom,  on  the  whole,  he 
admired),  excited  and  tremulous  at  sight  of  a 
moose,  so  that  he  could  scarcely  load  his  gun 
properly.  Joe,  who  was  a  good  Catholic,  wanted 
us  to  stop  traveling  on  Sunday  and  hold  a 
meeting  ;  and  when  we  insisted  on  going  for 
ward,  the  Indian  withdrew  into  the  woods  to 
say  his  prayers,  —  then  came  back  and  picked 
up  the  breakfast  things,  and  we  paddled  on. 
As  to  Thoreau' s  courage  and  manliness,  nobody 


392        FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.  [1858, 

who  had  seen  him  among  the  Penobscot  rocks 
and  rapids  —  the  Indian  trusting  his  life  and 
his  canoe  to  Henry's  skill,  promptitude,  and 
nerve  —  would  ever  doubt  it." 

Channing  says : l  "In  his  later  journeys,  if 
his  companion  was  footsore  or  loitered,  he  stead 
ily  pursued  his  road.  Once,  when  a  follower  was 
done  up  with  headache  and  incapable  of  motion, 
hoping  his  associate  would  comfort  him  and  per 
haps  afford  him  a  sip  of  tea,  he  said,  '  There  are 
people  who  are  sick  in  that  way  every  morning, 
and  go  about  their  affairs,'  and  then  marched  off 
about  his.  In  such  limits,  so  inevitable,  was  he 
compacted. .  .  .  This  tone  of  mind  grew  out  of  no 
insensibility ;  or,  if  he  sometimes  looked  coldly 
on  the  suffering  of  more  tender  natures,  he 
sympathized  with  their  afflictions,  but  could  do 
nothing  to  admire  them.  He  would  not  injure 
a  plant  unnecessarily.  At  the  time  of  the  John 
Brown  tragedy,  Thoreau  was  driven  sick.  So 

1  Channing's  Thoreau,  pp.  3,  8,  9.  Charming  himself  was, 
no  doubt,  the  "  follower  "  and  "  companion  "  here  mentioned ; 
no  person  so  frequently  walked  with  Thoreau  in  his  long-  ex 
cursions.  They  were  together  in  New  Boston,  N.  H.,  when 
the  minister  mentioned  in  the  Week  reproved  Thoreau  for  not 
going  to  meeting  on  Sunday.  When  I  first  lived  in  Concord 
(March,  1855),  and  asked  the  innkeeper  what  Sunday  services 
the  village  held,  he  replied :  "  There  's  the  Orthodox,  an'  the 
Unitarian,  an'  th'  Walden  Pond  Association,"  —  meaning  by 
the  last  what  Emerson  called  "  the  Walkers,"  —  those  who 
rambled  in  the  Walden  woods  on  Sundays. 


JET.  41.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  393 

the  country's  misfortunes  in  the  Union  war  acted 
on  his  feelings  with  great  force :  he  used  to  say 
he  '  could  never  recover  while  the  war  lasted.'  " 
Hawthorne  had  an  experience  somewhat  similar, 
though  he,  too,  was  of  stern  stuff  when  need  was, 
and  had  much  of  the  old  Salem  sea-captains  in 
his  sensitive  nature. 

TO   DANIEL   RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  November  6,  1858. 

FRIEND  EICKETSON,  —  I  was  much  pleased 
with  your  lively  and  lifelike  account  of  your 
voyage.  You  were  more  than  repaid  for  your 
trouble  after  all.  The  coast  of  Nova  Scotia, 
which  you  sailed  along  from  Windsor  westward, 
is  particularly  interesting  to  the  historian  of  this 
country,  having  been  settled  earlier  than  Plym 
outh.  Your  "  Isle  of  Haut "  is  properly  "  Isle 
Haute,"  or  the  High  Island  of  Champlain's  map. 
There  is  another  off  the  coast  of  Maine.  By  the 
way,  the  American  elk,  of  American  authors 
(Cervus  Canadensis),is  a  distinct  animal  from 
the  moose  (Oervus  alees)^  though  the  latter  is 
called  elk  by  many. 

You  drew  a  very  vivid  portrait  of  the  Austra 
lian,  —  short  and  stout,  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth, 
and  his  book  inspired  by  beer,  Pot  First,  Pot 
Second,  etc.  I  suspect  that  he  must  be  pot 
bellied  withal.  Methinks  I  see  the  smoke  going 


394  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1858, 

up  from  him  as  from  a  cottage  on  the  moor.  If 
he  does  not  quench  his  genius  with  his  beer,  it 
may  burst  into  a  clear  flame  at  last.  However, 
perhaps  he  intentionally  adopts  the  low  style. 

What  do  you  mean  by  that  ado  about  smoking, 
and  my  "purer  tastes  "  ?  I  should  like  his  pipe 
as  well  as  his  beer,  at  least.  Neither  of  them  is 
so  bad  as  to  be  "  highly  connected,"  which  you 
say  he  is,  unfortunately.  No !  I  expect  no 
thing  but  pleasure  in  "  smoke  from  your  pipe." 

You  and  the  Australian  must  have  put  your 
heads  together  when  you  concocted  those  titles, 
—  with  pipes  in  your  mouths  over  a  pot  of  beer. 
I  suppose  that  your  chapters  are,  Whiff  the 
First,  Whiff  the  Second,  etc.  But  of  course  it 
is  a  more  modest  expression  for  "  Fire  from  my 
Genius." 

You  must  have  been  very  busy  since  you  came 
back,  or  before  you  sailed,  to  have  brought  out 
your  History,  of  whose  publication  I  had  not 
heard.  I  suppose  that  I  have  read  it  in  the 
"Mercury."'  Yet  I  am  curious  to  see  how  it 
looks  in  a  volume,  with  your  name  on  the  title- 
page. 

I  am  more  curious  still  about  the  poems. 
Pray  put  some  sketches  into  the  book :  your 
shanty  for  frontispiece ;  Arthur  and  Walton's 
boat  (if  you  can)  running  for  Cuttyhunk  in  a 
tremendous  gale;  not  forgetting  "Be  honest 


2ET.41.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  395 

boys,"  etc.,  near  by ;  the  Middleborough  Ponds, 
with  a  certain  island  looming  in  the  distance ; 
the  Quaker  meeting-house,  and  the  Brady  House, 
if  you  like  ;  the  villagers  catching  smelts  with 
dip-nets  in  the  twilight,  at  the  Head  of  the 
Eiver,  etc.,  etc.  Let  it  be  a  local  and  villageous 
book  as  much  as  possible.  Let  some  one  make 
a  characteristic  selection  of  mottoes  from  your 
shanty  walls,  and  sprinkle  them  in  an  irregular 
manner,  at  all  angles,  over  the  fly-leaves  and 
margins,  as  a  man  stamps  his  name  in  a  hurry ; 
and  also  canes,  pipes,  and  jackknives,  of  all  your 
patterns,  about  the  frontispiece.  I  can  think  of 
plenty  of  devices  for  tail-pieces.  Indeed,  I  should 
like  to  see  a  hair-pillow,  accurately  drawn,  for 
one ;  a  cat,  with  a  bell  on,  for  another ;  the  old 
horse,  with  his  age  printed  in  the  hollow  of  his 
back ;  half  a  cocoanut  shell  by  a  spring ;  a 
sheet  of  blotted  paper ;  a  settle  occupied  by  a 
settler  at  full  length,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  Call  all  the 
arts  to  your  aid. 

Don't  wait  for  the  Indian  Summer,  but  bring 
it  with  you. 

P.  S.  —  Let  me  ask  a  favor.  I  am  trying  to 
write  something  about  the  autumnal  tints,  and 
I  wish  to  know  how  much  our  trees  differ  from 
English  and  European  ones  in  this  respect. 
Will  you  observe,  or  learn  for  me,  what  English 
or  European  trees,  if  any,  still  retain  their  leaves 


396  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

in  Mr.  Arnold's  garden  (the  gardener  will  sup 
ply  the  true  names)  ;  and  also  if  the  foliage  of 
any  (and  what)  European  or  foreign  trees  there 
have  been  brilliant  the  past  month.  If  you  will 
do  this  you  will  greatly  oblige  me.  I  return  the 
newspaper  with  this. 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT    NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  November  28,  1858. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
"  History." 1  Though  I  have  not  yet  read  it 
again,  I  have  looked  far  enough  to  see  that  I 
like  the  homeliness  of  it ;  that  is,  the  good,  old- 
fashioned  way  of  writing,  as  if  you  actually  lived 
where  you  wrote.  A  man's  interest  in  a  single 
bluebird  is  worth  more  than  a  complete  but  dry 
list  of  the  fauna  and  flora  of  a  town.  It  is  also 
a  considerable  advantage  to  be  able  to  say  at 
any  time,  "  If  R.  is  not  here,  here  is  his  book." 
Alcott  being  here,  and  inquiring  after  you 
(whom  he  has  been  expecting),  I  lent  the  book 
to  him  almost  immediately.  He  talks  of  going 
West  the  latter  part  of  this  week.  Channing  is 
here  again,  as  I  am  told,  but  I  have  not  seen 
him. 

I  thank  you  also  for  the  account  of  the  trees. 

1  Of  New  Bedford,  first  published  in  the  Mercury  of  that 
city,  while  Channing  was  one  of  the  editors,  and  afterwards  in 
a  volume. 


asT.41.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  397 

It  was  to  my  purpose,  and  I  hope  you  got  some 
thing  out  of  it  too.  I  suppose  that  the  cold 
weather  prevented  your  coming  here.  Suppose 
you  try  a  winter  walk  on  skates.  Please  re 
member  me  to  your  family. 

Late  in  November,  1858,  Cholmondeley,  who 
had  not  written  for  a  year  and  six  months,  sud 
denly  notified  Thoreau  from  Montreal  that  he 
was  in  Canada,  and  would  visit  Concord  the 
next  week.  Accordingly  he  arrived  early  in 
December,  and  urged  his  friend  to  go  with  him 
to  the  West  Indies.  John  Thoreau,  the  father, 
was  then  in  his  last  illness,  and  for  that  and 
other  reasons  Thoreau  could  not  accept  the  in 
vitation  ;  but  he  detained  Cholmondeley  in  Con 
cord  some  days,  and  took  him  to  New  Bedford, 
December  8th,  having  first  written  this  note  to 
Mr.  Kicketsoii :  — 

"  Thomas  Cholmondeley,  my  English  ac 
quaintance,  is  here,  on  his  way  to  the  West 
Indies.  He  wants  to  see  New  Bedford,  a  whal 
ing  town.  I  tell  him  I  would  like  to  introduce 
him  to  you  there,  —  thinking  more  of  his  seeing 
you  than  New  Bedford.  So  we  propose  to  come 
your  way  to-morrow.  Excuse  this  short  notice, 
for  the  time  is  short.  If  on  any  account  it  is 
inconvenient  to  see  us,  you  will  treat  us  accord- 
ingly." 


398  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1858, 

Of  this  visit  and  his  English  visitor,  Mr. 
Ricketson  wrote  in  his  journal  the  next  day :  — 

"We  were  all  much  pleased  with  Mr. 
Cholmondeley.  He  is  a  tall  spare  man,  thirty- 
five  years  of  age,  of  fair  and  fresh  complexion, 
blue  eyes,  light  brown  and  fine  hair,  nose  small 
and  Roman,  beard  light  and  worn  full,  with  a 
mustache.  A  man  of  fine  culture  and  refinement 
of  manners,  educated  at  Oriel  College,  Oxford, 
of  an  old  Cheshire  family  by  his  father,  a  clergy 
man.  He  wore  a  black  velvet  sack  coat,  and 
lighter  colored  trousers,  —  a  sort  of  genteel 
traveling  suit ;  perhaps  a  cap,  but  by  no  means 
a  fashionable  'castor.'  He  reminded  me  of 
our  dear  friend,  George  William  Curtis."  Few 
greater  compliments  could  this  diarist  give  than 
to  compare  a  visitor  to  Curtis,  the  lamented. 

Mr.  Cholmondeley  left  Concord  for  the  South, 
going  as  far  as  to  Virginia,  in  December  and 
January ;  then  came  back  to  Concord  the  20th 
of  January,  1859,  and  after  a  few  days  returned 
to  Canada,  and  thence  to  England  by  way  of 
Jamaica.  He  was  in  London  when  Theodore 
Parker  reached  there  from  Santa  Cruz,  in 
June,  and  called  on  him,  with  offers  of  service ; 
but  does  not  seem  to  have  heard  of  Parker's 
death  till  I  wrote  him  in  May,  1861.  At  my 
parting  with  him  in  Concord,  he  gave  me  money 
with  which  to  buy  grapes  for  the  invalid  father 


JET.  41.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  399 

of  Thoreau,  —  an  instance  of  his  constant  con 
sideration  for  others;  the  Thoreaus  hardly  af 
fording  such  luxuries  as  hothouse  grapes  for 
the  sick.  Sophia  Thoreau,  who  perhaps  was 
more  appreciative  of  him  than  her  more  stoical 
brother,  said  after  his  death,  "  We  have  always 
had  the  truest  regard  for  him,  as  a  person  of 
rare  integrity,  great  benevolence,  and  the  sin- 
cerest  friendliness."  This  well  describes  the 
man  whose  every-day  guise  was  literally  set 
down  by  Mr.  Bicketson. 

TO   HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  January  1,  1859. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  It  may  interest  you  to  hear 
that  Cholmondeley  has  been  this  way  again,  ma 
Montreal  and  Lake  Huron,  going  to  the  West 
Indies,  or  rather  to  Weiss-nicht-wo,  whither  he 
urges  me  to  accompany  him.  He  is  rather  more 
demonstrative  than  before,  and,  on  the  whole, 
what  would  be  called  "  a  good  fellow,"  —  is  a 
man  of  principle,  and  quite  reliable,  but  very 
peculiar.  I  have  been  to  New  Bedford  with 
him,  to  show  him  a  whaling  town  and  Ricket- 
son.  I  was  glad  to  hear  that  you  had  called  on 
R.  How  did  you  like  him?  I  suspect  that 
you  did  not  see  one  another  fairly. 

I  have  lately  got  back  to  that  glorious  society 
called  Solitude,  where  we  meet  our  friends  con- 


400          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

tinually,  and  can  imagine  the  outside  world  also 
to  be  peopled.  Yet  some  of  my  acquaintance 
would  fain  hustle  me  into  the  almshouse  for 
the  sake  of  society,  as  if  I  were  pining  for  that 
diet,  when  I  seem  to  myself  a  most  befriended 
man,  and  find  constant  employment.  However, 
they  do  not  believe  a  word  I  say.  They  have 
got  a  club,  the  handle  of  which  is  in  the  Parker 
House  at  Boston,  and  with  this  they  beat  me 
from  time  to  time,  expecting  to  make  me  tender 
or  minced  meat,  so  fit  for  a  club  to  dine  off. 

"  Hercules  with  his  club 
The  Dragon  did  drub  ; 
But  More  of  More  Hall, 
With  nothing  at  all, 
He  slew  the  Dragon  of  Wantley." 

Ah !  that  More  of  More  Hall  knew  what  fair 
play  was.  Channing,  who  wrote  to  me  about  it 
once,  brandishing  the  club  vigorously  (being  set 
on  by  another,  probably),  says  now,  seriously, 
that  he  is  sorry  to  find  by  my  letters  that  I  am 
"  absorbed  in  politics,"  and  adds,  begging  my 
pardon  for  his  plainness,  "  Beware  of  an  extrane 
ous  life !  "  and  so  he  does  his  duty,  and  washes 
his  hands  of  me.  I  tell  him  that  it  is  as  if  he 
should  say  to  the  sloth,  that  fellow  that  creeps 
so  slowly  along  a  tree,  and  cries  ai  from  time  to 
time,  "  Beware  of  dancing  !  " 

The  doctors  are  all  agreed  that  I  am  suffer- 


JST.  41.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  401 

ing  for  want  of  society.  Was  never  a  case  like 
it.  First,  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  suffering  at 
all.  Secondly,  as  an  Irishman  might  say,  I  had 
thought  it  was  indigestion  of  the  society  I  got. 

As  for  the  Parker  House,  I  went  there  once, 
when  the  Club 1  was  away,  but  I  found  it  hard 
to  see  through  the  cigar  smoke,  and  men  were 
deposited  about  in  chairs  over  the  marble  floor, 
as  thick  as  legs  of  bacon  in  a  smoke-house.  It 
was  all  smoke,  and  no  salt,  Attic  or  other.  The 
only  room  in  Boston  which  I  visit  with  alacrity 
is  the  Gentlemen's  Room  at  the  Fitchburg 
Depot,  where  I  wait  for  the  cars,  sometimes  for 
two  hours,  in  order  to  get  out  of  town.  It  is  a 
paradise  to  the  Parker  House,  for  no  smoking 
is  allowed,  and  there  is  far  more  retirement. 
A  large  and  respectable  club  of  us  hire  it  (Town 
and  Country  Club),  and  I  am  pretty  sure  to  find 

1  The  club  with  which  Thoreau  here  makes  merry  was  the 
Saturday  Club,  meeting  at  Parker's  Hotel  in  Boston  the  last 
Saturday  in  each  month,  of  which  Emerson,  Agassiz,  Long-fel 
low,  Holmes,  Lowell,  Henry  James,  and  other  men  of  letters 
were  members.  Thoreau,  though  invited,  never  seems  to  have 
met  with  them,  as  Channing  did,  on  one  memorable  occasion, 
at  least,  described  by  Mr.  James  in  a  letter  cited  in  the  Me 
moir  of  Bronson  Alcott,  who  also  occasionally  dined  with  this 
club.  The  conversation  at  Emerson's  next  mentioned  was 
also  memorable  for  the  vigor  with  which  Miss  Mary  Emerson, 
then  eighty-four  years  old,  rebuked  Mr.  James  for  what  she 
thought  his  dangerous  Antinomian  views  concerning  the  moral 
law. 


402          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

some  one  there  whose  face  is  set  the  same  way 
as  my  own. 

My  last  essay,  on  which  I  am  still  engaged,  is 
called  Autumnal  Tints.  I  do  not  know  how  read 
able  (i.  e.,  by  me  to  others)  it  will  be. 

I  met  Mr.  James  the  other  night  at  Emer 
son's,  at  an  Alcottian  conversation,  at  which, 
however,  Alcott  did  not  talk  much,  being  dis 
turbed  by  James's  opposition.  The  latter  is  a 
hearty  man  enough,  with  whom  you  can  differ 
very  satisfactorily,  on  account  of  both  his  doc 
trines  and  his  good  temper.  He  utters  quasi 
philanthropic  dogmas  in  a  metaphysic  dress ; 
but  they  are  for  all  practical  purposes  very 
crude.  He  charges  society  with  all  the  crime 
committed,  and  praises  the  criminal  for  com 
mitting  it.  But  I  think  that  all  the  remedies 
he  suggests  out  of  his  head  —  for  he  goes  no 
farther,  hearty  as  he  is  —  would  leave  us  about 
where  we  are  now.  For,  of  course,  it  is  not  by 
a  gift  of  turkeys  on  Thanksgiving  Day  that  he 
proposes  to  convert  the  criminal,  but  by  a  true 
sympathy  with  each  one,  —  with  him,  among  the 
rest,  who  lyingly  tells  the  world  from  the  gal 
lows  that  he  has  never  been  treated  kindly  by  a 
single  mortal  since  he  was  born.  But  it  is  not 
so  easy  a  thing  to  sympathize  with  another, 
though  you  may  have  the  best  disposition  to  do 
it.  There  is  Dobson  over  the  hill.  Have  not 


^T.  41.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  403 

you  and  I  and  all  the  world  been  trying,  ever 
since  lie  was  born,  to  sympathize  with  him  ?  (as 
doubtless  he  with  us),  and  yet  we  have  got  no 
farther  than  to  send  him  to  the  House  of  Cor 
rection  once  at  least ;  and  he,  on  the  other  hand, 
as  I  hear,  has  sent  us  to  another  place  several 
times.  This  is  the  real  state  of  things,  as  I  un 
derstand  it,  as  least  so  far  as  James's  remedies 
go.  We  are  now,  alas  !  exercising  what  charity 
we  actually  have,  and  new  laws  would  not  give 
us  any  more.  But,  perchance,  we  might  make 
some  improvements  in  the  House  of  Correction. 
You  and  I  are  Dobson  ;  what  will  James  do  for 


us  .' 


Have  you  found  at  last  in  your  wanderings  a 
place  where  the  solitude  is  sweet? 

What  mountain  are  you  camping  on  nowa 
days  ?  Though  I  had  a  good  time  at  the  moun 
tains,  I  confess  that  the  journey  did  not  bear 
any  fruit  that  I  know  of.  I  did  not  expect  it 
would.  The  mode  of  it  was  not  simple  and  ad 
venturous  enough.  You  must  first  have  made 
an  infinite  demand,  and  not  unreasonably,  but 
after  a  corresponding  outlay,  have  an  all-absorb 
ing  purpose,  and  at  the  same  time  that  your  feet 
bear  you  hither  and  thither,  travel  much  more 
in  imagination. 

To  let  the  mountains  slide,  —  live  at  home 
like  a  traveler.  It  should  not  be  in  vain  that 


404          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859 

these  things  are  shown  us  from  day  to  day.  Is 
not  each  withered  leaf  that  I  see  in  my  walks 
something  which  I  have  traveled  to  find  ?  — 
traveled,  who  can  tell  how  far  ?  What  a  fool 
he  must  be  who  thinks  that  his  El  Dorado  is 
anywhere  but  where  he  lives ! 

We  are  always,  methinks,  in  some  kind  of 
ravine,  though  our  bodies  may  walk  the  smooth 
streets  of  Worcester.  Our  souls  (I  use  this 
word  for  want  of  a  better)  are  ever  perched 
on  its  rocky  sides,  overlooking  that  lowland. 
(What  a  more  than  Tuckerman's  Ravine  is  the 
body  itself,  in  which  the  "  soul "  is  encamped, 
when  you  come  to  look  into  it !  However, 
eagles  always  have  chosen  such  places  for  their 
eyries.) 

Thus  is  it  ever  with  your  fair  cities  of  the 
plain.  Their  streets  may  be  paved  with  silver 
and  gold,  and  six  carriages  roll  abreast  in  them, 
but  the  real  homes  of  the  citizens  are  in  the 
Tuckerman's  Ravines  which  ray  out  from  that 
centre  into  the  mountains  round  about,  one  for 
each  man,  woman,  and  child.  The  masters  of 
life  have  so  ordered  it.  That  is  their  beau-ideal 
of  a  country  seat.  There  is  no  danger  of  being 
tuckered  out  before  you  get  to  it. 
.  So  we  live  in  Worcester  and  in  Concord,  each 
man  taking  his  exercise  regularly  in  his  ravine, 
like  a  lion  in  his  cage,  and  sometimes  spraining 


JST.  41.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  405 

his  ankle  there.  We  have  very  few  clear  days, 
and  a  great  many  small  plagues  which  keep  us 
busy.  Sometimes,  I  suppose,  you  hear  a  neigh 
bor  halloo  (Brown,  may  be)  and  think  it  is  a 
bear.  Nevertheless,  on  the  whole,  we  think  it 
very  grand  and  exhilarating,  this  ravine  life. 
It  is  a  capital  advantage  withal,  living  so  high, 
the  excellent  drainage  of  that  city  of  God.  Rou 
tine  is  but  a  shallow  and  insignificant  sort  of 
ravine,  such  as  the  ruts  are,  the  conduits  of  pud 
dles.  But  these  ravines  are  the  source  of  mighty 
streams,  precipitous,  icy,  savage,  as  they  are, 
haunted  by  bears  and  loup-cerviers ;  there  are 
born  not  only  Sacos  and  Amazons,  but  prophets 
who  will  redeem  the  world.  The  at  last  smooth 
and  fertilizing  water  at  which  nations  drink  and 
navies  supply  themselves  begins  with  melted 
glaciers,  and  burst  thunder-spouts.  Let  us  pray 
that,  if  we  are  not  flowing  through  some  Mis 
sissippi  valley  which  we  fertilize,  —  and  it  is  not 
likely  we  are,  —  we  may  know  ourselves  shut  in 
between  grim  and  mighty  mountain  walls  amid 
the  clouds,  falling  a  thousand  feet  in  a  mile, 
through  dwarfed  fir  and  spruce,  over  the  rocky 
insteps  of  slides,  being  exercised  in  our  minds, 
and  so  developed. 

CONCORD,  January  19,  1859. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  If  I  could  have  given  a  favor 
able  report  as  to  the  skating,  I  should  have  an- 


406          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.          [1859, 

swered  you  earlier.  About  a  week  before  you 
wrote  there  was  good  skating ;  there  is  now  none. 
As  for  the  lecture,  I  shall  be  glad  to  come.  I 
cannot  now  say  when,  but  I  will  let  you  know,  I 
think  within  a  week  or  ten  days  at  most,  and  will 
then  leave  you  a  week  clear  to  make  the  arrange 
ments  in.  I  will  bring  something  else  than  "  What 
shall  it  profit  a  Man  ?  "  My  father  is  very  sick, 
and  has  been  for  a  long  time,  so  that  there  is 
the  more  need  of  me  at  home.  This  occurs  to 
me,  even  when  contemplating  so  short  an  excur 
sion  as  to  Worcester. 

I  want  very  much  to  see  or  hear  your  ac 
count  of  your  adventures  in  the  Ravine,1  and  I 
trust  I  shall  do  so  when  I  come  to  Worcester. 
Cholmondeley  has  been  here  again,  returning 
from  Virginia  (for  he  went  no  farther  south)  to 
Canada;  and  will  go  thence  to  Europe,  he 
thinks,  in  the  spring,  and  never  ramble  any  more. 
(January  29.)  I  am  expecting  daily  that  my 
father  will  die,  therefore  I  cannot  leave  home  at 
present.  I  will  write  you  again  within  ten  days. 

The  death  of  John  Thoreau  (who  was  born 
October  8,  1787)  occurred  February  3d,  and 
Thoreau  gave  his  lecture  on  "  Autumnal  Tints  " 
at  Worcester,  February  22,  1859.  Mrs.  Tho- 

1  This  was  Tuckerman's  Ravine  at  the  White  Mountains, 
where  Thoreau  met  with  his  mishap  in  the  preceding-  July. 


asT.41.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  407 

reau  survived  all  her  children  except  Sophia, 
and  died  in  1872.  In  a  letter  to  Mr.  Ricketson, 
Thoreau  gave  a  just  sketch  of  his  father's  char 
acter. 

TO   DANIEL   RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  12th  February,  1859. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  thank  you  for  your 
kind  letter.  I  sent  you  the  notice  of  my  father's 
death  as  much  because  you  knew  him  as  because 
you  knew  me.  I  can  hardly  realize  that  he  is 
dead.  He  had  been  sick  about  two  years,  and 
at  last  declined  rather  rapidly,  though  steadily. 
Till  within  a  week  or  ten  days  before  he  died  he 
was  hoping  to  see  another  spring,  but  he  then 
discovered  that  this  was  a  vain  expectation,  and, 
thinking  that  he  was  dying,  he  took  his  leave  of 
us  several  times  within  a  week  before  his  depar 
ture.  Once  or  twice  he  expressed  a  slight  impa 
tience  at  the  delay.  He  was  quite  conscious  to 
the  last,  and  his  death  was  so  easy  that,  though 
we  had  all  been  sitting  around  the  bed  for  an 
hour  or  more  expecting  that  event  (as  we  had 
sat  before),  he  was  gone  at  last,  almost  before 
we  were  aware  of  it. 

I  am  glad  to  read  what  you  say  of  his  social 
nature.  I  think  I  may  say  that  he  was  wholly 
unpretending ;  and  there  was  this  peculiarity  in 
his  aim,  that  though  he  had  pecuniary  difficul- 


408          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

ties  to  contend  with  the  greater  part  of  his  life, 
he  always  studied  how  to  make  a  good  article, 
pencil  or  other  (for  he  practiced  various  arts), 
and  was  never  satisfied  with  what  he  had  pro 
duced.  Nor  was  he  ever  disposed  in  the  least  to 
put  off  a  poor  one  for  the  sake  of  pecuniary  gain, 
—  as  if  he  labored  for  a  higher  end. 

Though  he  was  not  very  old,  and  was  not  a 
native  of  Concord,  I  think  that  he  was,  on  the 
whole,  more  identified  with  Concord  street  than 
any  man  now  alive,  having  come  here  when  he 
was  about  twelve  years  old,  and  set  up  for  him 
self  as  a  merchant  here,  at  the  age  of  twenty-one, 
fifty  years  ago.  As  I  sat  in  a  circle  the  other 
evening  with  my  mother  and  sister,  my  mother's 
two  sisters,  and  my  father's  two  sisters,  it  oc 
curred  to  me  that  my  father,  though  seventy-one, 
belonged  to  the  youngest  four  of  the  eight  who 
recently  composed  our  family. 

How  swiftly  at  last,  but  unnoticed,  a  genera 
tion  passes  away !  Three  years  ago  I  was  called 
with  my  father  to  be  a  witness  to  the  signing 
of  our  neighbor  Mr.  Frost's  will.  Mr.  Samuel 
Hoar,  who  was  there  writing  it,  also  signed  it. 
I  was  lately  required  to  go  to  Cambridge  to  tes 
tify  to  the  genuineness  of  the  will,  being  the  only 
one  of  the  four  who  could  be  there,  and  now  I 
am  the  only  one  alive. 

My   mother   and   sister   thank   you    heartily 


MT.  42.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  409 ' 

for  your  sympathy.  The  latter,  in  particular, 
agrees  with  you  in  thinking  that  it  is  communion 
with  still  living  and  healthy  nature  alone  which 
can  restore  to  sane  and  cheerful  views.  I  thank 
you  for  your  invitation  to  New  Bedford,  but  I 
feel  somewhat  confined  here  for  the  present. 

I  did  not  know  but  we  should  see  you  the  day 
after  Alger  was  here.  It  is  not  too  late  for  a 
winter  walk  in  Concord.  It  does  me  good  to 
hear  of  spring  birds,  and  singing  ones  too,  —  for 
spring  seems  far  away  from  Concord  yet.  I  am 
going  to  Worcester  to  read  a  parlor  lecture  on 
the  22d,  and  shall  see  Blake  and  Brown.  What 
if  you  were  to  meet  me  there,  or  go  with  me 
from  here  ?  You  would  see  them  to  good  advan 
tage.  Cholmondeley  has  been  here  again,  after 
going  as  far  south  as  Virginia,  and  left  for  Can 
ada  about  three  weeks  ago.  He  is  a  good  soul, 
and  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  sufficiently  recognize 
him. 

Please  remember  me  to  Mrs.  Ricketson,  and 
to  the  rest  of  your  family. 

TO   HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  September  26,  1859. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  in  a 
fit  mood  to  write  to  you,  for  I  feel  and  think 
rather  too  much  like  a  business  man,  having 
some  very  irksome  affairs  to  attend  to  these 


410          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1859, 

months  and  years  on  account  of  my  family.1 
This  is  the  way  I  am  serving  King  Admetus, 
confound  him !  If  it  were  not  for  my  relations, 
I  would  let  the  wolves  prey  on  his  flocks  to  their 
bellies'  content.  Such  fellows  you  have  to  deal 
with !  herdsmen  of  some  other  king,  or  of  the 
same,  who  tell  no  tale,  but  in  the  sense  of  count 
ing  their  flocks,  and  then  lie  drunk  under  a 
hedge.  How  is  your  grist  ground?  Not  by 
some  murmuring  stream,  while  you  lie  dreaming 
on  the  bank ;  but,  it  seems,  you  must  take  hold 
with  your  hands,  and  shove  the  wheel  round. 
You  can't  depend  on  streams,  poor  feeble  things ! 
You  can't  depend  on  worlds, -left  to  themselves  ; 
but  you  've  got  to  oil  them  and  goad  them  along. 
In  short,  you  've  got  to  carry  on  two  farms  at 
once,  —  the  farm  on  the  earth  and  the  farm  in 
your  mind.  Those  Crimean  and  Italian  battles 
were  mere  boys'  play,  —  they  are  the  scrapes 
into  which  truants  get.  But  what  a  battle  a 
man  must  fight  everywhere  to  maintain  his 
standing  army  of  thoughts,  and  march  with  them 
in  orderly  array  through  the  always  hostile  coun- 

1  He  was  looking-  after  the  manufacture  of  fine  plumbago 
for  the  electrotypers,  which  was  the  family  business  after  pen 
cil-making-  grew  unprofitable.  The  Thoreaus  had  a  grinding 
mill  in  Acton,  and  a  packing  shop  attached  to  their  Concord 
house.  "  Parker's  society,"  mentioned  at  the  close  of  the  let 
ter,  was  the  congregation  of  Theodore  Parker,  then  in  Italy, 
where  he  died  in  May,  1860. 


JET.  42.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  411 

try !  How  many  enemies  there  are  to  sane 
thinking !  Every  soldier  has  succumbed  to  them 
before  he  enlists  for  those  other  battles.  Men 
may  sit  in  chambers,  seemingly  safe  and  sound, 
and  yet  despair,  and  turn  out  at  last  only  hol- 
lowness  and  dust  within,  like  a  Dead  Sea  apple. 
A  standing  army  of  numerous,  brave,  and  well- 
disciplined  thoughts,  and  you  at  the  head  of 
them,  marching  straight  to  your  goal,  —  how  to 
bring  this  about  is  the  problem,  and  Scott's  Tac 
tics  will  not  help  you  to  it.  Think  of  a  poor 
fellow  begirt  only  with  a  sword-belt,  and  no  such 
staff  of  athletic  thoughts  !  his  brains  rattling  as 
he  walks  and  talks  !  These  are  your  praetorian 
guard.  It  is  easy  enough  to  maintain  a  family, 
or  a  state,  but  it  is  hard  to  maintain  these  chil 
dren  of  your  brain  (or  say,  rather,  these  guests 
that  trust  to  enjoy  your  hospitality),  they  make 
such  great  demands ;  and  yet,  he  who  does  only 
the  former,  and  loses  the  power  to  tldiik  origi 
nally,  or  as  only  he  ever  can,  fails  miserably. 
Keep  up  the  fires  of  thought,  and  all  will  go 
well. 

Zouaves  ?  —  pish  !  How  you  can  overrun  a 
country,  climb  any  rampart,  and  carry  any  for 
tress,  with  an  army  of  alert  thoughts !  —  thoughts 
that  send  their  bullets  home  to  heaven's  door,  — 
with  which  you  can  take  the  whole  world,  with 
out  paying  for  it,  or  robbing  anybody.  See,  the 


412          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

conquering  hero  comes !  You  fail  in  your 
thoughts,  or  you  prevail  in  your  thoughts  only. 
Provided  you  think  well,  the  heavens  falling,  or 
the  earth  gaping,  will  be  music  for  you  to  march 
by.  No  foe  can  ever  see  you,  or  you  him ;  you 
cannot  so  much  as  think  of  him.  Swords  have 
no  edges,  bullets  no  penetration,  for  such  a  con 
test.  In  your  mind  must  be  a  liquor  which  will 
dissolve  the  world  whenever  it  is  dropt  in  it. 
There  is  no  universal  solvent  but  this,  and  all 
things  together  cannot  saturate  it.  It  will  hold 
the  universe  in  solution,  and  yet  be  as  translu 
cent  as  ever.  The  vast  machine  may  indeed  roll 
over  our  toes,  and  we  not  know  it,  but  it  would 
rebound  and  be  staved  to  pieces  like  an  empty 
barrel,  if  it  should  strike  fair  and  square  on  the 
smallest  and  least  angular  of  a  man's  thoughts. 

You  seem  not  to  have  taken  Cape  Cod  the 
right  way.  I  think  that  you  should  have  perse 
vered  in  walking  on  the  beach  and  on  the  bank, 
even  to  the  land's  end,  however  soft,  and  so,  by 
long  knocking  at  Ocean's  gate,  have  gained  ad 
mittance  at  last,  —  better,  if  separately,  and  in 
a  storm,  not  knowing  where  you  would  sleep  by 
night,  or  eat  by  day.  Then  you  should  have 
given  a  day  to  the  sand  behind  Provincetown, 
and  ascended  the  hills  there,  and  been  blown  on 
considerably.  I  hope  that  you  like  to  remember 
the  journey  better  than  you  did  to  make  it. 


2ET.  42.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  413 

I  have  been  confined  at  home  all  this  year, 
but  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have  grown  any  rus 
tier  than  was  to  be  expected.  One  while  I  ex 
plored  the  bottom  of  the  river  pretty  extensively. 
I  have  engaged  to  read  a  lecture  to  Parker's 
society  on  the  9th  of  October  next. 

I  am  off  —  a  barberrying. 

TO   HARBISON   BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  October  31,  1859. 

MK.  BLAKE,  —  I  spoke  to  my  townsmen  last 
evening  on  "  The  Character  of  Captain  Brown, 
now  in  the  clutches  of  the  slaveholder."  I 
should  like  to  speak  to  any  company  at  Worces 
ter  who  may  wish  to  hear  me ;  and  will  come  if 
only  my  expenses  are  paid.  I  think  we  should 
express  ourselves  at  once,  while  Brown  is  alive. 
The  sooner  the  better.  Perhaps  Higginson  may 
like  to  have  a  meeting.  Wednesday  evening 
would  be  a  good  time.  The  people  here  are 
deeply  interested  in  the  matter.  Let  me  have 
an  answer  as  soon  as  may  be. 

P.  S.  —  I  may  be  engaged  toward  the  end  of 
the  week. 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

This  address  on  John  Brown  was  one  of  the 
first  public  utterances  in  favor  of  that  hero ;  it 
was  made  up  mainly  from  the  entries  in  Tho- 


414          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

reau's  journals,  since  I  had  introduced  Brown  to 
him,  and  he  to  Emerson,  in  March,  1857  ;  and 
specially  from  those  pages  that  Thoreau  had 
written  after  the  news  of  Brown's  capture  in 
Virginia  had  reached  him.  It  was  first  given  in 
the  vestry  of  the  old  parish  church  in  Concord 
(where,  in  1774,  the  Provincial  Congress  of 
Massachusetts  had  met  to  prepare  for  armed 
resistance  to  British  tyranny)  ;  was  repeated  at 
Worcester  the  same  week,  and  before  a  great 
audience  in  Boston,  the  following  Sunday,  — 
after  which  it  was  published  in  the  newspapers, 
and  had  a  wide  reading.  Mr.  Alcott  in  his 
diary  mentions  it  under  date  of  Sunday,  Octo 
ber  30,  thus  :  "  Thoreau  reads  a  paper  on  John 
Brown,  his  virtues,  spirit,  and  deeds,  this  even 
ing,  and  to  the  delight  of  his  company,  —  the 
best  that  could  be  gathered  at  short  notice,  — 
and  among  them  Emerson.  (November  4.) 
Thoreau  calls  and  reports  about  the  reading  of 
his  lecture  on  Brown  at  Boston  and  Worcester. 
He  has  been  the  first  to  speak  and  celebrate  the 
hero's  courage  and  magnanimity ;  it  is  these 
that  he  discerns  and  praises.  The  men  have 
much  in  common,  —  the  sturdy  manliness, 
straightforwardness,  and  independence.  (No 
vember  5.)  Ricketson  from  New  Bedford  ar 
rives  ;  he  and  Thoreau  take  supper  with  us. 
Thoreau  talks  freely  and  enthusiastically  about 


asx.42.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  415 

Brown,  —  denouncing  the  Union,  the  President, 
the  States,  and  Virginia  particularly  ;  wishes 
to  publish  his  late  speech,  and  has  seen  Boston 
publishers,  but  failed  to  find  any  to  print  it  for 
him."  It  was  soon  after  published,  along  with 
Emerson's  two  speeches  in  favor  of  Brown,  by 
a  new  Boston  publishing  house  (Thayer  &  El- 
dridge),  in  a  volume  called,  "  Echoes  of  Har 
per's  Ferry,"  edited  by  the  late  James  Redpath, 
Brown's  first  biographer.  In  the  following 
summer,  Thoreau  sent  a  second  paper  on  Brown 
(written  soon  after  his  execution)  to  be  read  at 
a  commemoration  of  the  martyr,  beside  his 
grave  among  the  Adirondac  Mountains.  This 
is  mentioned  in  his  letter  to  Sophia  Thoreau, 
July  8, 1860.  He  took  an  active  part  in  arrang 
ing  for  the  funeral  service  in  honor  of  Brown, 
at  Concord,  the  day  of  his  death,  December  2, 
1859. 

TO    HARRISON   BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  May  20, 1860. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  must  endeavor  to  pay  some 
of  my  debts  to  you.  To  begin  where  we  left 
off,  then. 

The  presumption  is  that  we  are  always  the 
same;  our  opportunities,  and  Nature  herself, 
fluctuating.  Look  at  mankind.  No  great  dif 
ference  between  two,  apparently ;  perhaps  the 


416          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1860, 

same  height,  and  breadth,  and  weight ;  and  yet, 
to  the  man  who  sits  most  east,  this  life  is  a 
weariness,  routine,  dust  and  ashes,  and  he 
drowns  his  imaginary  cares  (!)  (a  sort  of  fric 
tion  among  his  vital  organs)  in  a  bowl.  But  to 
the  man  who  sits  most  west,  his  contemporary  (!), 
it  is  a  field  for  all  noble  endeavors,  an  elysium, 
the  dwelling-place  of  heroes  and  demigods.  The 
former  complains  that  he  has  a  thousand  affairs 
to  attend  to ;  but  he  does  not  realize  that  his 
affairs  (though  they  may  be  a  thousand)  and  he 
are  one. 

Men  and  boys  are  learning  all  kinds  of  trades 
but  how  to  make  men  of  themselves.  They 
learn  to  make  houses ;  but  they  are  not  so  well 
housed,  they  are  not  so  contented  in  their  houses, 
as  the  woodchucks  in  their  holes.  What  is 
the  use  of  a  house  if  you  have  n't  got  a  tolerable 
planet  to  put  it  on  ?  —  if  you  cannot  tolerate 
the  planet  it  is  on  ?  Grade  the  ground  first.  If 
a  man  believes  and  expects  great  things  of  him 
self,  it  makes  no  odds  where  you  put  him,  or 
what  you  show  him  (of  course  you  cannot  put 
him  anywhere,  nor  show  him  anything),  he  will 
be  surrounded  by  grandeur.  He  is  in  the  con 
dition  of  a  healthy  and  hungry  man,  who  says 
to  himself,  —  How  sweet  this  crust  is  !  If  he 
despairs  of  himself,  then  Tophet  is  his  dwell- 
iiig-place,  and  he  is  in  the  condition  of  a  sick 


JET.  42.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  417 

man  who  is  disgusted  with  the  fruits  of  finest 
flavor. 

Whether  he  sleeps  or  wakes,  —  whether  he 
runs  or  walks,  —  whether  he  uses  a  microscope 
or  a  telescope,  or  his  naked  eye,  —  a  man  never 
discovers  anything,  never  overtakes  anything, 
or  leaves  anything  behind,  but  himself.  What 
ever  he  says  or  does,  he  merely  reports  himself. 
If  he  is  in  love,  he  loves  ;  if  he  is  in  heaven, 
he  enjoys, ;  if  he  is  in  hell,  he  suffers.  It  is  his 
condition  that  determines  his  locality. 

The  principal,  the  only  thing  a  man  makes,  is 
his  condition  of  fate.  Though  commonly  he 
does  not  know  it,  nor  put  up  a  sign  to  this  effect, 
"My  own  destiny  made  and  mended  here." 
[Not  yours.']  He  is  a  master-workman  in  the 
business.  He  works  twenty-four  hours  a  day  at 
it,  and  gets  it  done.  Whatever  else  he  neglects 
or  botches,  no  man  was  ever  known  to  neglect 
this  work.  A  great  many  pretend  to  make 
shoes  chiefly,  and  would  scout  the  idea  that  they 
make  the  hard  times  which  they  experience. 

Each  reaching  and  aspiration  is  an  instinct 
with  which  all  nature  consists  and  cooperates, 
and  therefore  it  is  not  in  vain.  But  alas !  each 
relaxing  and  desperation  is  an  instinct  too.  To 
be  active,  well,  happy,  implies  rare  courage.  To 
be  ready  to  fight  in  a  duel  or  a  battle  implies 
desperation,  or  that  you  hold  your  life  cheap. 


418          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1860, 

If  you  take  this  life  to  be  simply  what  old 
religious  folks  pretend  (I  mean  the  effete,  gone 
to  seed  in  a  drought,  mere  human  galls  stung 
by  the  devil  once),  then  all  your  joy  and  seren 
ity  is  reduced  to  grinning  and  bearing  it.  The 
fact  is,  you  have  got  to  take  the  world  on  your 
shoulders  like  Atlas,  and  "  put  along  "  with  it. 
You  will  do  this  for  an  idea's  sake,  and  your 
success  will  be  in  proportion  to  your  devotion  to 
ideas.  It  may  make  your  back  ache  occasion 
ally,  but  you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  hang 
ing  it  or  twirling  it  to  suit  yourself.  Cowards 
suffer,  heroes  enjoy.  After  a  long  day's  walk 
with  it,  pitch  it  into  a  hollow  place,  sit  down 
and  eat  your  luncheon.  Unexpectedly,  by  some 
immortal  thoughts,  you  will  be  compensated. 
The  bank  whereon  you  sit  will  be  a  fragrant  and 
flowery  one,  and  your  world  in  the  hollow  a 
sleek  and  light  gazelle. 

Where  is  the  "  unexplored  land  "  but  in  our 
own  untried  enterprises  ?  To  an  adventurous 
spirit  any  place  —  London,  New  York,  Worces 
ter,  or  his  own  yard  —  is  "  unexplored  land," 
to  seek  which  Fremont  and  Kane  travel  so  far. 
To  a  sluggish  and  defeated  spirit  even  the  Great 
Basin  and  the  Polaris  are  trivial  places.  If  they 
can  get  there  (and,  indeed,  they  are  there  now), 
they  will  want  to  sleep,  and  give  it  up,  just  as 
they  always  do.  These  are  the  regions  of  the 


MT.  42.]  TO  SOPHIA   THOREAU.  419 

Known  and  of  the  Unknown.  What  is  the  use 
of  going  right  over  the  old  track  again  ?  There 
is  an  adder  in  the  path  which  your  own  feet 
have  worn.  You  must  make  tracks  into  the  Un 
known.  That  is  what  you  have  your  board  and 
clothes  for.  Why  do  you  ever  mend  your  clothes, 
unless  that,  wearing  them,  you  may  mend  your 
ways  ?  Let  us  sing. 

TO   SOPHIA   THOREAU    (AT   CAMPTON,    N.    H.). 

CONCORD,  July  8,  1860. 

DEAR  SOPHIA,  —  Mother  reminds  me  that  I 
must  write  to  you,  if  only  a  few  lines,  though 
I  have  sprained  my  thumb,  so  that  it  is  ques 
tionable  whether  I  can  write  legibly,  if  at  all. 
I  can't  "  bear  on "  much.  What  is  worse,  I 
believe  that  I  have  sprained  my  brain  too  —  that 
is,  it  sympathizes  with  my  thumb.  But  that  is 
no  excuse,  I  suppose,  for  writing  a  letter  in  such 
a  case,  is  like  sending  a  newspaper,  only  a  hint 
to  let  you  know  that  "  all  is  well,"  -  -  but  my 
thumb. 

I  hope  that  you  begin  to  derive  some  benefit 
from  that  more  mountainous  air  which  you  are 
breathing.  Have  you  had  a  distinct  view  of  the 
Franconia  Notch  Mountains  (blue  peaks  in  the 
northern  horizon)  ?  which  I  told  you  you  could 
get  from  the  road  in  Campton,  probably  from 
some  other  points  nearer.  Such  a  view  of  the 


420          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [i860, 

mountains  is  more  memorable  than  any  other. 
Have  you  been  to  Squam  Lake  or  overlooked  it? 
I  should  think  that  you  could  make  an  excursion 
to  some  mountain  in  that  direction  from  which 
you  could  see  the  lake  and  mountains  generally. 
Is  there  no  friend  of  N.  P.  Kogers  who  can  tell 
you  where  the  "  lions  "  are  ? 

Of  course  I  did  not  go  to  North  Elba,1  but  I 
sent  some  reminiscences  of  last  fall.  I  hear  that 
John  Brown,  Jr.,  has  now  come  to  Boston  for  a 
few  days.  Mr.  Sanborn's  case,  it  is  said,  will 
come  on  after  some  murder  cases  have  been  dis 
posed  of  here. 

I  have  just  been  invited  formally  to  be  pres 
ent  at  the  annual  picnic  of  Theodore  Parker's 
society  (that  was),  at  Waverley,  next  Wednes 
day,  and  to  make  some  remarks.  But  that  is 
wholly  out  of  my  line.  I  do  not  go  to  picnics, 
even  in  Concord,  you  know. 

Mother  and  Aunt  Sophia  rode  to  Acton  in 
time  yesterday.  I  suppose  that  you  have  heard 
that  Mr.  Hawthorne  has  come  home.  I  went  to 
meet  him  the  other  evening  and  found  that  he 
has  not  altered,  except  that  he  was  looking  quite 

1  He  was  invited  to  a  gathering-  of  John  Brown's  friends  at 
the  grave  in  the  Adirondac  woods.  "  Mr.  Sanborn's  case  "  was 
an  indictment  and  civil  suit  against  Silas  Carleton  et  als.  for  an 
attempt  to  kidnap  F.  B.  Sanborn,  who  had  refused  to  accept 
the  invitation  of  the  Senate  at  Washington  to  testify  in  the 
John  Brown  investigation. 


arr.  43.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  421 

brown  after  his  voyage.     He  is  as  simple  and 
childlike  as  ever. 

I  believe  that  I  have  fairly  scared  the  kittens 
away,  at  last,  by  my  pretended  fierceness,  which 
was.  I  will  consider  my  thumb  —  and  your 
eyes. 

HENRY. 

TO  HARRISON  BLAKE  (AT  WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  August  3,  1860. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  some  time  ago  asked  Chan- 
ning  if  he  would  not  spend  a  week  with  me  on 
Monadnoc ;  but  he  did  not  answer  decidedly. 
Lately  he  has  talked  of  an  excursion  somewhere, 
but  I  said  that  now  I  must  wait  till  my  sister  re 
turned  from  Plymouth,  N.  H.  She  has  returned, 
—  and  accordingly,  on  receiving  your  note  this 
morning,  I  made  known  its  contents  to  Chaii- 
ning,  in  order  to  see  how  far  I  was  engaged  with 
him.  The  result  is  that  he  decides  to  go  to 
Monadnoc  to-morrow  morning ; 1  so  I  must  defer 

1  This  is  the  excursion  described  by  Thoreau  in  a  subse 
quent  letter,  —  lasting  six  days,  and  the  first  that  Channing 
had  made  which  involved  "camping  out."  It  was  also  Tho- 
reau's  last  visit  to  this  favorite  mountain  ;  but  Channing  con 
tinued  to  go  there  after  the  death  of  his  friend  ;  and  some  of 
these  visits  are  recorded  in  his  poem,  "  The  Wanderer."  The 
last  one  was  in  September,  1869,  when  I  accompanied  him, 
and  we  again  spent  five  nights  on  the  plateau  where  he  hacl 
camped  with  Thoreau.  At  that  time,  one  of  the  "  two  good 
spruce  houses,  half  a  mile  apart,"  mentioned  by  Thoreau, 


422          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1860, 

making  an  excursion  with  you  and  Brown  to 
another  season.  Perhaps  you  will  call  as  you 
pass  the  mountain.  I  send  this  by  the  earliest 
mail. 

P.  S.  —  That  was  a  very  insufficient  visit  you 
made  here  the  last  time.  My  mother  is  better, 
though  far  from  well ;  and  if  you  should  chance 
along  here  any  time  after  your  journey,  I  trust 
that  we  shall  all  do  better. 

The  mention  by  Thoreau  of  John  Brown  and 
my  "  case  "  recalls  to  me  an  incident  of  those 
excited  days  which  followed  the  attack  by  Brown 
on  slavery  in  Virginia.  The  day  after  Brown's 
death,  but  before  the  execution  of  his  comrades, 
I  received  a  message  from  the  late  Dr.  David 
Thayer  of  Boston,  implying,  as  I  thought,  that 
a  son  of  Brown  was  at  his  house,  whither  I 
hurried  to  meet  him.  Instead,  I  found  young 
F.  J.  Merriam  of  Boston,  who  had  escaped  with 
Owen  Brown  from  Harper's  Ferry,  and  was 

was  still  standing,  in  ruins,  —  the  place  called  by  Channing 
"  Henry's  Camp,"  and  thus  described  :  — 

We  built  our  fortress  where  you  see 
Yon  group  of  spruce-trees,  sidewise  on  the  line 
Where  the  horizon  to  the  eastward  bounds,  — 
A  point  selected  by  sagacious  art, 
Where  all  at  once  we  viewed  the  Vermont  hills, 
And  the  long  outline  of  the  mountain-ridge, 
Ever  renewing,  changeful  every  hour. 

See  The  Wanderer  (Boston,  1871),  p.  61. 


«T.  42.]  THOREA  U  AND  FRANK  MERRIAM.  423 

now  in  Boston  to  raise  another  party  against  the 
slaveholders.  He  was  unfit  to  lead  or  even  join 
in  such  a  desperate  undertaking,  and  we  insisted 
he  should  return  to  safety  in  Canada,  —  a  large 
reward  being  offered  for  his  seizure.  He  agreed 
to  go  back  to  Canada  that  night  by  the  Fitch- 
burg  Railroad  ;  but  in  his  hotheaded  way  he  took 
the  wrong  train,  which  ran  no  farther  than  Con 
cord,  —  and  found  himself  in  the  early  evening 
at  my  house,  where  my  sister  received  him,  but 
insisted  that  I  should  not  see  him,  lest  I  might 
be  questioned  about  my  guest.  While  he  had 
supper  and  went  to  bed,  I  posted  down  to  Mr. 
Emerson's  and  engaged  his  horse  and  covered 
wagon,  to  be  ready  at  sunrise,  —  he  asking  no 
questions.  In  the  same  way  I  engaged  Mr. 
Thoreau  to  drive  his  friend's  horse  to  South 
Acton  the  next  morning,  and  there  put  on  board 
the  first  Canadian  train  a  Mr.  Lockwood,  whom 
he  would  find  at  my  house.  Thoreau  readily 
consented,  asked  no  questions,  walked  to  the 
Emerson  stable  the  next  morning,  found  the 
horse  ready,  drove  him  to  my  door,  and  took 
up  Merriam,  under  the  name  of  Lockwood,  — 
neither  knowing  who  the  other  was.  Merriam 
was  so  flighty  that,  though  he  had  agreed  to  go 
to  Montreal,  and  knew  that  his  life  might  de 
pend  on  getting  there  early,  he  declared  he  must 
see  Mr.  Emerson,  to  lay  before  him  his  plan 


424          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1859, 

for  invading  the  South,  and  consult  him  about 
some  moral  questions  that  troubled  his  mind. 
His  companion  listened  gravely,  —  and  hurried 
the  horse  towards  Acton.  Merriam  grew  more 
positive  and  suspicious,  —  "  Perhaps  you  are 
Mr.  Emerson ;  you  look  somewhat  like  him."  l 
"  No,  I  am  not,"  said  Thoreau,  and  drove  steadily 
away  from  Concord.  "  Well,  then,  I  am  going 
back,"  said  the  youth,  and  flung  himself  out  of 
the  wagon.  How  Thoreau  got  him  in  again,  he 
never  told  me ;  but  I  suspected  some  judicious 
force,  accompanying  the  grave  persuasive  speech 
natural  to  our  friend.  At  any  rate,  he  took  his 
man  to  Acton,  saw  him  safe  on  the  train,  and 
reported  to  me  that  "  Mr.  Lockwood  had  taken 
passage  for  Canada,"  where  he  arrived  that 
night.  Nothing  more  passed  between  us  until, 
more  than  two  years  after,  he  inquired  one  day, 
in  his  last  illness,  who  my  fugitive  was.  Mer 
riam  was  then  out  of  danger  in  that  way,  and 
had  been  for  months  a  soldier  in  the  Union 
army,  where  he  died.  I  therefore  said  that 
"  Lockwood  "  was  the  grandson  of  his  mother's 
old  friend,  Francis  Jackson,  and  had  escaped 
from  Maryland.  In  return  he  gave  me  the  odd 
incidents  of  their  drive,  and  mentioned  that  he 

1  See  Tkoreau's  Autumn,  p.  331.     Merriam  mentioned  Tho- 
reau's  name  to  him,  but  never  guessed  who  his   companion 


«T.43.]         TO  DANIEL  EICKETSON.  425 

had  spoken  of  the  affair  to  his  mother  only  since 
his  illness.  So  reticent  and  practically  useful 
could  he  be  ;  as  Channing  says,  "  He  made  no 
useless  professions,  never  asked  one  of  those 
questions  which  destroy  all  relation  ;  but  he  was 
on  the  spot  at  the  time,  he  meant  friendship, 
and  meant  nothing  else,  and  stood  by  it  with 
out  the  slightest  abatement." 

TO   DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW    BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  November  4,  1860. 

FRIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  thank  you  for  the 
verses.  They  are  quite  too  good  to  apply  to  me. 
However,  I  know  what  a  poet's  license  is,  and 
will  not  get  in  the  way. 

But  what  do  you  mean  by  that  prose  ?  Why 
will  you  waste  so  many  regards  on  me,  and  not 
know  what  to  think  of  my  silence  ?  Infer  from 
it  what  you  might  from  the  silence  of  a  dense 
pine  wood.  It  is  its  natural  condition,  except 
when  the  winds  blow,  and  the  jays  scream,  and 
the  chickadee  winds  up  his  clock.  My  silence  is 
just  as  inhuman  as  that,  and  no  more.  You 
know  that  I  never  promised  to  correspond  with 
you,  and  so,  when  I  do,  I  do  more  than  I  prom 
ised. 

Such  are  my  pursuits  and  habits,  that  I  rarely 
go  abroad ;  and  it  is  quite  a  habit  with  me  to 
decline  invitations  to  do  so.  Not  that  I  could 


426          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1860, 

not  enjoy  such  visits,  if  I  were  not  otherwise 
occupied.  I  have  enjoyed  very  much  my  vis 
its  to  you,  and  my  rides  in  your  neighborhood, 
and  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  enjoy  such  things 
oftener;  but  life  is  short,  and  there  are  other 
things  also  to  be  done.  I  admit  that  you  are 
more  social  than  I  am,  and  far  more  attentive 
to  "  the  common  courtesies  of  life  ;  "  but  this  is 
partly  for  the  reason  that  you  have  fewer  or  less 
exacting  private  pursuits. 

Not  to  have  written  a  note  for  a  year  is  with 
me  a  very  venial  offense.  I  think  that  I  do  not 
correspond  with  any  one  so  often  as  once  in  six 
months. 

I  have  a  faint  recollection  of  your  invitation 
referred  to ;  but  I  suppose  that  I  had  no  new 
nor  particular  reason  for  declining,  and  so  made 
no  new  statement.  I  have  felt  that  you  would 
be  glad  to  see  me  almost  whenever  I  got  ready 
to  come ;  but  I  only  offer  myself  as  a  rare  vis 
itor,  and  a  still  rarer  correspondent. 

I  am  very  busy,  after  my  fashion,  little  as 
there  is  to  show  for  it,  and  feel  as  if  I  could  not 
spend  many  days  nor  dollars  in  traveling;  for 
the  shortest  visit  must  have  a  fair  margin  to  it, 
and  the  days  thus  affect  the  weeks,  you  know. 
Nevertheless,  we  cannot  forego  these  luxuries 
altogether.  You  must  not  regard  me  as  a  regu 
lar  diet,  but  at  most  only  as  acorns,  which,  too, 


JET.  43.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  427 

are  not  to  be  despised,  —  which,  at  least,  we  love 
to  think  are  edible  in  a  bracing  walk.  We 
have  got  along  pretty  well  together  in  several 
directions,  though  we  are  such  strangers  in 
others. 

I  hardly  know  what  to  say  in  answer  to  your 
letter.  Some  are  accustomed  to  write  many  let 
ters,  others  very  few.  I  am  one  of  the  last.  At 
any  rate,  we  are  pretty  sure,  if  we  write  at  all, 
to  send  those  thoughts  which  we  cherish,  to  that 
one  who,  we  believe,  will  most  religiously  attend 
to  them. 

This  life  is  not  for  complaint,  but  for  satisfac 
tion.  I  do  not  feel  addressed  by  this  letter  of 
yours.  It  suggests  only  misunderstanding.  In 
tercourse  may  be  good;  but  of  what  use  are 
complaints  and  apologies?  Any  complaint  / 
have  to  make  is  too  serious  to  be  uttered,  for  the 
evil  cannot  be  mended. 

Turn  over  a  new  leaf. 

My  out-door  harvest  this  fall  has  been  one 
Canada  lynx,  a  fierce-looking  fellow,  which,  it 
seems,  we  have  hereabouts;  eleven  barrels  of 
apples  from  trees  of  my  own  planting;  and  a 
large  crop  of  white-oak  acorns,  which  I  did  not 
raise. 

Please  remember  me  to  your  family.  I  have 
a  very  pleasant  recollection  of  your  fireside,  and 
I  trust  that  I  shall  revisit  it ;  —  also  of  your 
shanty  and  the  surrounding  regions. 


428          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [I860, 

TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT   WORCESTER). 

CONCOKD,  November  4,  1860. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  am  glad  to  hear  any  partic 
ulars  of  your  excursion.  As  for  myself,  I  looked 
out  for  you  somewhat  on  that  Monday,  when, 
it  appears,  you  passed  Monadnoc ;  turned  my 
glass  upon  several  parties  that  were  ascending 
the  mountain  half  a  mile  on  one  side  of  us.  In 
short,  I  came  as  near  to  seeing  you  as  you  to 
seeing  me.  I  have  no  doubt  that  we  should  have 
had  a  good  time  if  you  had  come,  for  I  had,  all 
ready,  two  good  spruce  houses,  in  which  you 
could  stand  up,  complete  in  all  respects,  half  a 
mile  apart,  and  you  and  B.  could  have  lodged 
by  yourselves  in  one,  if  not  with  us. 

We  made  an  excellent  beginning  of  our  moun 
tain  life.1  You  may  remember  that  the  Satur 
day  previous  was  a  stormy  day.  Well,  we  went 
up  in  the  rain,  —  wet  through,  —  and  found  our 
selves  in  a  cloud  there  at  mid-afternoon,  in  no 
situation  to  look  about  for  the  best  place  for  a 
camp.  So  I  proceeded  at  once,  through  the 
cloud,  to  that  memorable  stone,  "  chunk  yard," 
in  which  we  made  our  humble  camp  once,  and 
there,  after  putting  our  packs  under  a  rock,  hav- 

1  This  was  Thoreau's  last  visit  to  Monadnoc,  and  the  one 
mentioned  in  the  note  of  August  3,  and  in  Channing's  Wan 
derer. 


jsT.43.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  429 

ing  a  good  hatchet,  I  proceeded  to  build  a  sub 
stantial  house,  which  Channing  declared  the 
handsomest  he  ever  saw.  (He  never  camped 
out  before,  and  was,  no  doubt,  prejudiced  in  its 
favor.)  This  was  done  about  dark,  and  by  that 
time  we  were  nearly  as  wet  as  if  we  had  stood 
in  a  hogshead  of  water.  We  then  built  a  fire 
before  the  door,  directly  on  the  site  of  our  little 
camp  of  two  years  ago,  and  it  took  a  long  time 
to  burn  through  its  remains  to  the  earth  be 
neath.  Standing  before  this,  and  turning  round 
slowly,  like  meat  that  is  roasting,  we  were  as 
dry,  if  not  drier,  than  ever,  after  a  few  hours, 
and  so  at  last,  we  "  turned  in." 

This  was  a  great  deal  better  than  going  up 
there  in  fair  weather,  and  having  no  adventure 
(not  knowing  how  to  appreciate  either  fair 
weather  or  foul)  but  dull,  commonplace  sleep  in 
a  useless  house,  and  before  a  comparatively  use 
less  fire,  —  such  as  we  get  every  night.  Of 
course  we  thanked  our  stars,  when  we  saw  them, 
which  was  about  midnight,  that  they  had  seem 
ingly  withdrawn  for  a  season.  We  had  the 
mountain  all  to  ourselves  that  afternoon  and 
night.  There  was  nobody  going  up  that  day  to 
engrave  his  name  on  the  summit,  nor  to  gather 
blueberries.  The  genius  of  the  mountains  saw  us 
starting  from  Concord,  and  it  said,  There  come 
two  of  our  folks.  Let  us  get  ready  for  them. 


430          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1860, 

Get  up  a  serious  storm,  that  will  send  a-packing 
these  holiday  guests.  (They  may  have  their  say 
another  time.)  Let  us  receive  them  with  true 
mountain  hospitality,  —  kill  the  fatted  cloud. 
Let  them  know  the  value  of  a  spruce  roof,  and 
of  a  fire  of  dead  spruce  stumps.  Every  bush 
dripped  tears  of  joy  at  our  advent.  Fire  did  its 
best,  and  received  our  thanks.  What  could  fire 
have  done  in  fair  weather  ?  Spruce  roof  got 
its  share  of  our  blessings.  And  then,  such  a 
view  of  the  wet  rocks,  with  the  wet  lichens  on 
them,  as  we  had  the  next  morning,  but  did  not 
get  again ! 

We  and  the  mountain  had  a  sound  season,  as 
the  saying  is.  How  glad  we  were  to  be  wet,  in 
order  that  we  might  be  dried!  How  glad  we 
were  of  the  storm  which  made  our  house  seem 
like  a  new  home  to  us !  This  day's  experience 
was  indeed  lucky,  for  we  did  not  have  a  thunder- 
shower  during  all  our  stay.  Perhaps  our  host 
reserved  this  attention  in  order  to  tempt  us  to 
come  again. 

Our  next  house  was  more  substantial  still. 
One  side  was  rock,  good  for  durability;  the 
floor  the  same  ;  and  the  roof  which  I  made  would 
have  upheld  a  horse.  I  stood  on  it  to  do  the 
shingling. 

I  noticed,  when  I  was  at  the  White  Mountains 
last,  several  nuisances  which  render  traveling 


2ET.43.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  431 

thereabouts  unpleasant.  The  chief  of  these  was 
the  mountain  houses.  I  might  have  supposed 
that  the  main  attraction  of  that  region,  even  to 
citizens,  lay  in  its  wildness  and  unlikeness  to 
the  city,  and  yet  they  make  it  as  much  like  the 
city  as  they  can  afford  to.  I  heard  that  the 
Crawford  House  was  lighted  with  gas,  and  had 
a  large  saloon,  with  its  band  of  music,  for  dan 
cing.  But  give  me  a  spruce  house  made  in  the 
rain. 

An  old  Concord  farmer  tells  me  that  he  as 
cended  Monadnoc  once,  and  danced  on  the  top. 
How  did  that  happen  ?  Why,  he  being  up  there, 
a  party  of  young  men  and  women  came  up,  bring 
ing  boards  and  a  fiddler ;  and,  having  laid  down 
the  boards,  they  made  a  level  floor,  on  which 
they  danced  to  the  music  of  the  fiddle.  I  sup 
pose  the  tune  was  "  Excelsior."  This  reminds 
me  of  the  fellow  who  climbed  to  the  top  of  a 
very  high  spire,  stood  upright  on  the  ball,  and 
hurrahed  for  —  what  ?  Why,  for  Harrison  and 
Tyler.  That's  the  kind  of  sound  which  most 
ambitious  people  emit  when  they  culminate. 
They  are  wont  to  be  singularly  frivolous  in  the 
thin  atmosphere  ;  they  can't  contain  themselves, 
though  our  comfort  and  their  safety  require  it ; 
it  takes  the  pressure  of  many  atmospheres  to  do 
this  ;  and  hence  they  helplessly  evaporate  there. 
It  would  seem  that  as  they  ascend,  they  breathe 


432          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [I860, 

shorter  and  shorter,  and,  at  each  expiration, 
some  of  their  wits  leave  them,  till,  when  they 
reach  the  pinnacle,  they  are  so  light-headed  as 
to  be  fit  only  to  show  how  the  wind  sits.  I  sus 
pect  that  Emerson's  criticism  called  "Monad- 
noc  "  was  inspired,  not  by  remembering  the  in 
habitants  of  New  Hampshire  as  they  are  in  the 
valleys,  so  much  as  by  meeting  some  of  them  on 
the  mountain  top. 

After  several  nights'  experience,  Channing 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  "  lying  out 
doors,"  and  inquired  what  was  the  largest  beast 
that  might  nibble  his  legs  there.  I  fear  that  he 
did  not  improve  all  the  night,  as  he  might  have 
done,  to  sleep.  I  had  asked  him  to  go  and  spend 
a  week  there.  We  spent  five  nights,  being  gone 
six  days,  for  C.  suggested  that  six  working  days 
made  a  week,  and  I  saw  that  he  was  ready  to 
decamp.  However,  he  found  his  account  in  it 
as  well  as  I. 

We  were  seen  to  go  up  in  the  rain,  grim  and 
silent,  like  two  genii  of  the  storm,  by  Fassett's 
men  or  boys ;  but  we  were  never  identified  after 
ward,  though  we  were  the  subject  of  some  con 
versation  which  we  overheard.  Five  hundred 
persons  at  least  came  on  to  the  mountain  while 
we  were  there,  but  not  one  found  our  camp.  We 
saw  one  party  of  three  ladies  and  two  gentlemen 
spread  their  blankets  and  spend  the  night  on  the 


2ET.43.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  433 

top,  and  heard  them  converse ;  but  they  did  not 
know  that  they  had  neighbors  who  were  compar 
atively  old  settlers.  We  spared  them  the  chagrin 
which  that  knowledge  would  have  caused  them, 
and  let  them  print  their  story  in  a  newspaper 
accordingly. 

Yes,  to  meet  men  on  an  honest  and  simple 
footing,  meet  with  rebuffs,  suffer  from  sore  feet, 
as  you  did,  —  ay,  and  from  a  sore  heart,  as  per 
haps  you  also  did,  —  all  that  is  excellent.  What 
a  pity  that  that  young  prince 1  could  not  enjoy  a 
little  of  the  legitimate  experience  of  traveling  — 
be  dealt  with  simply  and  truly,  though  rudely. 
He  might  have  been  invited  to  some  hospitable 
house  in  the  country,  had  his  bowl  of  bread  and 
milk  set  before  him,  with  a  clean  pinafore ;  been 
told  that  there  were  the  punt  and  the  fishing-rod, 
and  he  could  amuse  himself  as  he  chose ;  might 
have  swung  a  few  birches,  dug  out  a  woodchuck, 
and  had  a  regular  good  time,  and  finally  been  sent 
to  bed  with  the  boys,  —  and  so  never  have  been 
introduced  to  Mr.  Everett  at  all.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  this  would  have  been  a  far  more 
memorable  and  valuable  experience  than  he  got. 

The  snow-clad  summit  of  Mount  Washington 
must  have  been  a  very  interesting  sight  from 
Wachusett.  How  wholesome  winter  is,  seen  far 

1  The  Prince  of  Wales,  then  visiting  America  with  the  Duke 
of  Newcastle. 


434          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

or  near ;  how  good,  above  all  mere  sentimental, 
warm-blooded,  short-lived,  soft-hearted,  moral 
goodness,  commonly  so-called.  Give  me  the 
goodness  which  has  forgotten  its  own  deeds,  — 
which  God  has  seen  to  be  good,  and  let  be.  None 
of  your  just  made  perfect,  —  pickled  eels !  All 
that  will  save  them  will  be  their  picturesqueness, 
as  with  blasted  trees.  Whatever  is,  and  is  not 
ashamed  to  be,  is  good.  I  value  no  moral  good 
ness  or  greatness  unless  it  is  good  or  great,  even 
as  that  snowy  peak  is.  Pray,  how  could  thirty 
feet  of  bowels  improve  it?  Nature  is  goodness 
crystallized.  You  looked  into  the  land  of  prom 
ise.  Whatever  beauty  we  behold,  the  more  it  is 
distant,  serene,  and  cold,  the  purer  and  more  dur 
able  it  is.  It  is  better  to  warm  ourselves  with 
ice  than  with  fire. 

Tell  Brown  that  he  sent  me  more  than  the 
price  of  the  book,  viz.,  a  word  from  himself,  for 
which  I  am  greatly  his  debtor. 

TO   DANIEL   RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  March  22,  1861. 

FKIEND  KICKETSON,  —  The  bluebird  was  here 
the  26th  of  February,  at  least,  which  is  one  day 
earlier  than  you  date;  but  I  have  not  heard 
of  larks  nor  pigeon-woodpeckers.  To  tell  the 
truth,  I  am  not  on  the  alert  for  the  signs  of 
spring,  not  having  had  any  winter  yet.  I  took 


JET.  43.}          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  435 

a  severe  cold  about  the  3d  of  December,  which 
at  length  resulted  in  a  kind  of  bronchitis,  so 
that  I  have  been  confined  to  the  house  ever  since, 
excepting  a  very  few  experimental  trips  as  far 
as  the  post-office  in  some  particularly  fine  noons. 
My  health  otherwise  has  not  been  affected  in 
the  least,  nor  my  spirits.  I  have  simply  been 
imprisoned  for  so  long,  and  it  has  not  prevented 
my  doing  a  good  deal  of  reading  and  the  like. 

Channing  has  looked  after  me  very  faithfully  ; 
says  he  has  made  a  study  of  my  case,  and  knows 
me  better  than  I  know  myself,  etc.,  etc.  Of 
course,  if  I  knew  how  it  began,  I  should  know 
better  how  it  would  end.  I  trust  that  when 
warm  weather  comes  I  shall  begin  to  pick  up 
my  crumbs.  I  thank  you  for  your  invitation  to 
come  to  New  Bedford,  and  will  bear  it  in  mind ; 
but  at  present  my  health  will  not  permit  my 
leaving  home. 

The  day  I  received  your  letter,  Blake  and 
Brown  arrived  here,  having  walked  from  Worces 
ter  in  two  days,  though  Alcott,  who  happened 
in  sbon  after,  could  not  understand  what  pleas 
ure  they  found  in  walking  across  the  country 
in  this  season,  when  the  ways  were  so  unsettled. 
I  had  a  solid  talk  with  them  for  a  day  and  a  half 
—  though  my  pipes  were  not  in  good  order  — 
and  they  went  their  way  again. 

You  may  be  interested  to  hear  that  Alcott  is 


436          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

at  present,  perhaps,  the  most  successful  man  in 
the  town.  He  had  his  second  annual  exhibition 
of  all  the  schools  in  the  town,  at  the  Town  Hall 
last  Saturday;  at  which  all  the  masters  and 
misses  did  themselves  great  credit,  as  I  hear, 
and  of  course  reflected  some  on  their  teachers 
and  parents.  They  were  making  their  little 
speeches  from  one  till  six  o'clock*?.  M.,  to  a 
large  audience,  which  patiently  listened  to  the 
end.  In  the  mean  while,  the  children  made  Mr. 
Alcott  an  unexpected  present  of  a  fine  edition  of 
"Pilgrim's  Progress"  and  "Herbert's  Poems," 
which,  of  course,  overcame  all  parties.  I  inclose 
an  Order  of  Exercises.1 

We  had,  last  night,  an  old-fashioned  north 
east  snow-storm,  far  worse  than  anything  in  the 
winter ;  and  the  drifts  are  now  very  high  above 
the  fences.  The  inhabitants  are  pretty  much 
confined  to  their  houses,  as  I  was  already.  All 
houses  are  one  color,  white,  with  the  snow  plas- 

1  In  April,  1859,  Mr.  Alcott  was  chosen  superintendent  of 
the  public  schools  of  Concord,  by  a  school  committee  of  which 
Mr.  Bull,  the  creator  of  the  Concord  grape,  and  Mr.  Sanborn, 
were  members,  and  for  some  years  he  directed  the  studies  of 
the  younger  pupils,  to  their  great  benefit  and  delight.  At  the 
yearly  "  exhibitions,"  songs  were  sung  composed  by  Louisa 
Alcott  and  others,  and  the  whole  town  assembled  to  see  and 
hear.  The  stress  of  civil  war  gradually  checked  this  idyllic 
movement,  and  Mr.  Alcott  returned  to  his  garden  and  library. 
It  was  two  years  after  this  that  Miss  Alcott  had  her  severe 
experience  as  hospital  nurse  at  Washington. 


J2T.43.]          TO  PARKER  PILLSBURY.  437 

tered  over  them,  and  you  cannot  tell  whether 
they  have  blinds  or  not.  Our  pump  has  another 
pump,  its  ghost,  as  thick  as  itself,  sticking  to 
one  side  of  it.  The  town  has  sent  out  teams  of 
eight  oxen  each,  to  break  out  the  roads ;  and  the 
train  due  from  Boston  at  8|  A.  M.  has  not  ar 
rived  yet  (4  P.  M.).  All  the  passing  has  been 
a  train  from  above  at  12  M.,  which  also  was  due 
at  8J  A.  M.  Where  are  the  bluebirds  now, 
think  you  ?  I  suppose  that  you  have  not  so 
much  snow  at  New  Bedford,  if  any. 

TO    PARKER    PILLSBURY    (AT    CONCORD,  N.  H.). 
CONCORD,  April  10,  1861. 

FRIEND  PILLSBURY,  —  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
I  have  not  a  copy  of  "  Walden  "  which  I  can 
spare ;  and  know  of  none,  unless  possibly  Tick- 
nor  &  Fields  may  have  one.  I  send,  neverthe 
less,  a  copy  of  "  The  Week,"  the  price  of  which 
is  one  dollar  and  twenty-five  cents,  which  you 
can  pay  at  your  convenience. 

As  for  your  friend,  my  prospective  reader,  I 
hope  he  ignores  Fort  Sumter,  and  "  Old  Abe," 
and  all  that ;  for  that  is  just  the  most  fatal,  and, 
indeed,  the  only  fatal  weapon  you  can  direct 
against  evil,  ever ;  for,  as  long  as  you  know  of 
it,  you  are  particeps  criminis.  What  business 
have  you,  if  you  are  "  an  angel  of  light,"  to  be 
pondering  over  the  deeds  of  darkness,  reading 
the  "  New  York  Herald,"  and  the  like  ? 


438          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

I  do  not  so  much  regret  the  present  condition 
of  things  in  this  country  (provided  I  regret  it 
at  all),  as  I  do  that  I  ever  heard  of  it.  I  know 
one  or  two,  who  have  this  year,  for  the  first  time, 
read  a  President's  Message ;  but  they  do  not 
see  that  this  implies  a  fall  in  themselves,  rather 
than  a  rise  in  the  President.  Blessed  were  the 
days  before  you  read  a  President's  Message. 
Blessed  are  the  young,  for  they  do  not  read  the 
President's  Message.  Blessed  are  they  who 
never  read  a  newspaper,  for  they  shall  see 
Nature,  and,  through  her,  God. 

But,  alas  !  /  have  heard  of  Sumter  and  Pick- 
ens,  and  even  of  Buchanan  (though  I  did  not 
read  his  Message).  I  also  read  the  "  New  York 
Tribune  ; "  but  then,  I  am  reading  Herodotus 
and  Strabo,  and  Blodget's  "  Climatology,"  and 
"Six  Years  in  the  Desert  of  North  America," 
as  hard  as  I  can,  to  counterbalance  it. 

By  the  way,  Alcott  is  at  present  our  most 
popular  and  successful  man,  and  has  just  pub 
lished  a  volume  in  size,  in  the  shape  of  the  An 
nual  School  Report,  which  I  presume  he  has 
sent  to  you. 

Yours,  for  remembering  all  good  things, 

HENKY  D.  THOKEAU. 

Parker  Pillsbury,  to  whom  this  letter  went, 
was  an  old  friend  of  the  Thoreau  family,  with 


J3T.43.]     CHOLMONDELEY  TO  THOREAU.    439 

whom  he  became  intimate  in  the  anti-slavery 
agitation,  wherein  they  took  part,  while  he  was  a 
famous  orator,  celebrated  by  Emerson  in  one  of 
his  Essays.  Mr.  Pillsbury  visited  Thoreau  in 
his  last  illness,  when  he  could  scarcely  speak 
above  a  whisper,  and,  having  made  to  him  some 
remark  concerning  the  future  life,  Thoreau  re 
plied,  "  My  friend,  one  world  at  a  time."  His 
petulant  words  in  this  letter  concerning  na 
tional  affairs  would  hardly  have  been  said  a 
few  days  later,  when,  at  the  call  of  Abraham 
Lincoln,  the  people  rose  to  protect  their  govern 
ment,  and  every  President's  Message  became  of 
thrilling  interest,  even  to  Thoreau. 

Arrangements  were  now  making  for  the  inva 
lid,  about  whose  health  his  friends  had  been 
anxious  for  some  years,  to  travel  for  a  better  cli 
mate  than  the  New  England  spring  affords,  and 
early  in  May  Thoreau  set  out  for  the  upper  Mis 
sissippi.  He  thus  missed  the  last  letter  sent  to 
him  by  his  English  friend  Cholmondeley,  which 
I  answered,  and  then  forwarded  to  him  at  Eed- 
wing,  in  Minnesota.  It  is  of  interest  enough  to 
be  given  here. 

T.    CHOLMONDELEY    TO    THOREAU    (iN   MINNESOTA). 
SHREWSBURY  [England],  April  23,  1861. 

MY  DEAR  THOREAU,  —  It  is  now  some  time 
since  I  wrote  to  you  or  heard  from  you,  but  do 


440          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

not  suppose  that  I  have  forgotten  you,  or  shall 
ever  cease  to  cherish  in  my  mind  those  days  at 
dear  old  Concord.  The  last  I  heard  about  you 
all  was  from  Morton,1  who  was  in  England  about 
a  year  ago ;  and  I  hope  that  he  has  got  over  his 
difficulties  and  is  now  in  his  own  country  again. 
I  think  he  has  seen  rather  more  of  English 
country  life  than  most  Yankee  tourists ;  and  ap 
peared  to  find  it  curious,  though  I  fear  he  was 
dulled  by  our  ways ;  for  he  was  too  full  of  cere 
mony  and  compliments  and  bows,  which  is  a 
mistake  here  ;  though  very  well  in  Spain.  I  am 
afraid  he  was  rather  on  pins  and  needles ;  but 
he  made  a  splendid  speech  at  a  volunteer  sup 
per,  and  indeed  the  very  best,  some  said,  ever 
heard  in  this  part  of  the  country. 

We  are  here  in  a  state  of  alarm  and  appre 
hension,  the  world  being  so  troubled  in  East 
and  West  and  everywhere.  Last  year  the  har 
vest  was  bad  and  scanty.  This  year  our  trade 
is  beginning  to  feel  the  events  in  America.  In 
reply  to  the  northern  tariff,  of  course  we  are 
going  to  smuggle  as  much  as  we  can.  The  sup 
ply  of  cotton  being  such  a  necessity  to  us,  we 
must  work  up  India  and  South  Africa  a  little 
better.  There  is  war  even  in  old  New  Zealand, 

1  Edwin  Morton  of  Plymouth,  Mass.,  a  friend  of  John  Brown 
and  Gerrit  Smith,  who  went  to  England  in  October,  1859,  to 
avoid  testifying  against  his  friends. 


asT.43.]     CHOLMONDELKT  TO  THOREAU.    441 


but  not  in  the  same  island  where  my  people  are ! 
Besides,  we  are  certainly  on  the  eve  of  a  conti 
nental  blaze,  so  we  are  making  merry  and  liv 
ing  while  ice  can  ;  not  being  sure  where  we  shall 
be  this  time  a  year. 

Give  my  affectionate  regards  to  your  father, 
mother,  and  sister,  and  to  Mr.  Emerson  and  his 
family,  and  to  Channing,  Sanborn,  Ricketson, 
Blake,  and  Morton  and  Alcott  and  Parker.  A 
thought  arises  in  my  mind  whether  I  may  not 
be  enumerating  some  dead  men !  Perhaps  Par 
ker  is ! 

These  rumors  of  wars  make  me  wish  that  we 
had  got  done  with  this  brutal  stupidity  of  war 
altogether ;  and  I  believe,  Thoreau,  that  the  hu-  / 
man  race  will  at  last  get  rid  of  it,  though  per-  V 
haps  not  in  a  creditable  way ;  but  such  powers 
will  be  brought  to  bear  that  it  will  become  mon 
strous  even  to  the  French.  Dundonald  declared 
to  the  last  that  he  possessed  secrets  which  from 
their  tremendous  character  would  make  war  im 
possible.  So  peace  may  be  begotten  from  the 
machinations  of  evil. 

Have  you  heard  of  any  good  books  lately  ?  I 
think  "  Burnt  Njal "  good,  and  believe  it  to  be 
genuine.  "  Hast  thou  not  heard  "  (says  Stein- 
rora  to  Thangbrand)  "how  Thor  challenged 
Christ  to  single  combat,  and  how  he  did  not 
dare  to  fight  with  Thor?"  When  Gunnar 


442          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

brandishes  his  sword,  three  swords  are  seen  in 
air.  The  account  of  Ospah  and  Brodir  and  Bri 
an's  battle  is  the  only  historical  account  of  that 
engagement,  which  the  Irish  talk  so  much  of ; 
for  I  place  little  trust  in  O'Halloran's  authority, 
though  the  outline  is  the  same  in  both. 

Darwin's  "  Origin  of  Species  "  may  be  fanci 
ful,  but  it  is  a  move  in  the  right  direction.  Em 
erson's  "  Conduct  of  Life  "  has  done  me  good  ; 
but  it  will  not  go  down  in  England  for  a  gener 
ation  or  so.  But  these  are  some  of  them  already 
a  year  or  two  old.  The  book  of  the  season  is 
Du  Chaillu's  "  Central  Africa,"  with  accounts  of 
the  Gorilla,  of  which  you  are  aware  that  you 
have  had  a  skeleton  at  Boston  for  many  years. 
There  is  also  one  in  the  British  Museum ;  but 
they  have  now  several  stuffed  specimens  at  the 
Geographical  Society's  rooms  in  Town.  I  sup 
pose  you  will  have  seen  Sir  Emerson  Tennent's 
"  Ceylon,"  which  is  perhaps  as  complete  a  book 
as  ever  was  published ;  and  a  better  monument 
to  a  governor's  residence  in  a  great  province  was 
never  made. 

We  have  been  lately  astonished  by  a  foreign 
Hamlet,  a  supposed  impossibility ;  but  Mr.  Fech- 
ter  does  real  wonders.  No  doubt  he  will  visit 
America,  and  then  you  may  see  the  best  actor 
in  the  world.  He  has  carried  out  Goethe's  idea 
of  Hamlet  as  given  in  the  "  Wilhelm  Meister," 


2ET.43.]  TO  HARRISON  BLAKE.  443 

showing  him  forth  as  a  fair-haired  and  fat  man. 
I  suppose  you  are  not  got  fat  yet  ? 
Yours  ever  truly, 

CHOLMONDELEY.1 


TO    HARRISON    BLAKE    (AT    WORCESTER). 

CONCORD,  May  3,  1861. 

MR.  BLAKE,  —  I  am  still  as  much  an  invalid 
as  when  you  and  Brown  were  here,  if  not  more 
of  one,  and  at  this  rate  there  is  danger  that 
the  cold  weather  may  come  again,  before  I  get 

1  A  word  may  be  said  of  the  after  life  of  this  magnanimous 
Englishman,  who  did  not  long  survive  his  Concord  correspond 
ent.  In  March,  1863,  being  then  in  command  of  a  battalion 
of  Shropshire  Volunteers,  which  he  had  raised,  he  inherited 
Condover  Hall  and  the  large  estate  adjacent,  and  took  the 
name  of  Owen  as  a  condition  of  the  inheritance.  A  year  later 
he  married  Miss  Victoria  Cotes,  daughter  of  John  and  Lady 
Louisa  Cotes  (Co.  Salop),  a  godchild  of  the  Queen,  and  went 
to  Italy  for  his  wedding-tour.  In  Florence  he  was  seized  with 
a  malignant  fever,  April  10,  1864,  and  died  there  April  20,  — 
not  quite  two  years  after  Thoreau's  death.  His  brother  Regi 
nald,  who  had  met  him  in  Florence,  carried  back  his  remains 
to  England,  and  he  is  buried  in  Condover  churchyard.  Writ 
ing  to  an  American  friend,  Mr.  R.  Cholmondeley  said  :  "  The 
whole  county  mourned  for  one  who  had  made  himself  greatly 
beloved.  During  his  illness  his  thoughts  went  back  very  much 
to  America  and  her  great  sufferings.  His  large  heart  felt  for 
your  country  as  if  it  were  his  own."  It  seems  that  he  did  not 
go  to  New  Zealand  with  the  "Canterbury  Pilgrims,"  as  sug 
gested  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  (December,  1893),  but  in  the 
first  of  Lord  Lyttelton's  ships  (the  Charlotte  Jane),  having 
joined  in  Lord  L.'s  scheme  for  colonizing  the  island,  where  he 
remained  only  six  months,  near  Christchurch. 


444          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

over  my  bronchitis.  The  doctor  accordingly 
tells  me  that  I  must  "  clear  out "  to  the  West 
Indies,  or  elsewhere,  —  he  does  not  seem  to  care 
much  where.  But  I  decide  against  the  West 
Indies,  on  account  of  their  muggy  heat  in  the 
summer,  and  the  South  of  Europe,  on  account  of 
the  expense  of  time  and  money,  and  have  at  last 
concluded  that  it  will  be  most  expedient  for  me 
to  try  the  air  of  Minnesota,  say  somewhere 
about  St.  Paul's.  I  am  only  waiting  to  be  well 
enough  to  start.  Hope  to  get  off  within  a  week 
or  ten  days. 

The  inland  air  may  help  me  at  once,  or  it  may 
not.  At  any  rate,  I  am  so  much  of  an  invalid, 
that  I  shall  have  to  study  my  comfort  in  travel 
ing  to  a  remarkable  degree,  —  stopping  to  rest, 
etc.,  etc.,  if  need  be.  I  think  to  get  a  through 
ticket  to  Chicago,  with  liberty  to  stop  frequently 
on  the  way,  making  my  first  stop  of  consequence 
at  Niagara  Falls,  several  days  or  a  week,  at  a 
private  boarding-house ;  then  a  night  or  day  at 
Detroit ;  and  as  much  at  Chicago  as  my  health 
may  require.  At  Chicago  I  can  decide  at  what 
point  (Fulton,  Dunleith,  or  another)  to  strike 
the  Mississippi,  and  take  a  boat  to  St.  Paul's. 

I  trust  to  find  a  private  boarding-house  in 
one  or  various  agreeable  places  in  that  region, 
and  spend  my  time  there.  I  expect,  and  shall 
be  prepared,  to  be  gone  three  months ;  and  I 


JET.  43.]  TO  F.  B.  SANBORN.  445 

would  like  to  return  by  a  different  route,  — 
perhaps  Mackinaw  and  Montreal. 

I  have  thought  of  finding  a  companion,  of 
course,  yet  not  seriously,  because  I  had  no  right 
to  offer  myself  as  a  companion  to  anybody,  hav 
ing  such  a  peculiarly  private  and  all-absorbing 
but  miserable  business  as  my  health,  and  not 
altogether  his,  to  attend  to,  causing  me  to  stop 
here  and  go  there,  etc.,  etc.,  unaccountably. 

Nevertheless,  I  have  just  now  decided  to  let 
you  know  of  my  intention,  thinking  it  barely 
possible  that  you  might  like  to  make  a  part  or 
the  whole  of  this  journey  at  the  same  time,  and 
that  perhaps  your  own  health  may  be  such  as  to 
be  benefited  by  it. 

Pray  let  me  know  if  such  a  statement  offers 
any  temptations  to  you.  I  write  in  great  haste 
for  the  mail,  and  must  omit  all  the  moral. 

TO   F.    B.    SANBORN    (AT   CONCORD). 

REDWING,  Minnesota,  June  26,  1861. 

MK.  SANBORN,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  find 
awaiting  me,  on  my  arrival  here  on  Sunday  after 
noon,  a  letter  from  you.  I  have  performed  this 
journey  in  a  very  dead  and  alive  manner,  but 
nothing  has  come  so  near  waking  me  up  as  the 
receipt  of  letters  from  Concord.  I  read  yours, 
and  one  from  my  sister  (and  Horace  Mann,  his 
four),  near  the  top  of  a  remarkable  isolated 


446          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

bluff  here,  called  Barn  Bluff,  or  the  Grange,  or 
Kedwing  Bluff,  some  four  hundred  and  fifty  feet 
high,  and  half  a  mile  long,  —  a  bit  of  the  main 
bluff  or  bank  standing  alone.  The  top,  as  you 
know,  rises  to  the  general  level  of  the  surround 
ing  country,  the  river  having  eaten  out  so  much. 
Yet  the  valley  just  above  and  below  this  (we 
are  at  the  head  of  Lake  Pepin)  must  be  three 
or  four  miles  wide. 

I  am  not  even  so  well  informed  as  to  the  pro 
gress  of  the  war  as  you  suppose.  I  have  seen 
but  one  Eastern  paper  (that,  by  the  way,  was 
the  "  Tribune ")  for  five  weeks.  I  have  not 
taken  much  pains  to  get  them  ;  but,  necessarily, 
I  have  not  seen  any  paper  at  all  for  more  than 
a  week  at  a  time.  The  people  of  Minnesota 
have  seemed  to  me  more  cold,  —  to  feel  less  im 
plicated  in  this  war  than  the  people  of  Massa 
chusetts.  It  is  apparent  that  Massachusetts,  for 
one  State  at  least,  is  doing  much  more  than  her 
share  in  carrying  it  on.  However,  I  have  dealt 
partly  with  those  of  Southern  birth,  and  have 
seen  but  little  way  beneath  the  surface.  I  was 
glad  to  be  told  yesterday  that  there  was  a  good 
deal  of  weeping  here  at  Kedwing  the  other  day, 
when  the  volunteers  stationed  at  Fort  Snelling 
followed  the  regulars  to  the  seat  of  the  war. 
They  do  not  weep  when  their  children  go  up  the 
river  to  occupy  the  deserted  forts,  though  they 
may  have  to  fight  the  Indians  there. 


JST.  43.]  TO  F.  B.  SANBORN.  447 

I  do  not  even  know  what  the  attitude  of  Eng 
land  is  at  present. 

The  grand  feature  hereabouts  is,  of  course, 
the  Mississippi  River.  Too  much  can  hardly  be 
said  of  its  grandeur,  and  of  the  beauty  of  this 
portion  of  it  (from  Dunleith,  and  probably  from 
Rock  Island  to  this  place).  St.  Paul  is  a  dozen 
miles  below  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  or  near 
the  head  of  uninterrupted  navigation  on  the 
main  stream,  about  two  thousand  miles  from  its 
mouth.  There  is  not  a  "  rip  "  below  that,  and 
the  river  is  almost  as  wide  in  the  upper  as  the 
lower  part  of  its  course.  Steamers  go  up  to  the 
Sauk  Rapids,  above  the  Falls,  near  a  hundred 
miles  farther,  and  then  you  are  fairly  in  the  pine- 
woods  and  lumbering  country.  Thus  it  flows 
from  the  pine  to  the  palm. 

The  lumber,  as  you  know,  is  sawed  chiefly  at 
the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony  (what  is  not  rafted  in 
the  log  to  ports  far  below),  having  given  rise  to 
the  towns  of  St.  Anthony,  Minneapolis,  etc.,  etc. 
In  coming  up  the  river  from  Dunleith,  you  meet 
with  great  rafts  of  sawed  lumber  and  of  logs, 
twenty  rods  or  more  in  length,  by  five  or  six 
wide,  floating  down,  all  from  the  pine  region 
above  the  Falls.  An  old  Maine  lumberer,  who 
has  followed  the  same  business  here,  tells  me 
that  the  sources  of  the  Mississippi  were  compar 
atively  free  from  rocks  and  rapids,  making  easy 


448  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.       [1861, 

work  for  them ;  but  he  thought  that  the  timber 
was  more  knotty  here  than  in  Maine. 

It  has  chanced  that  about  half  the  men  whom 
I  have  spoken  with  in  Minnesota,  whether  trav 
elers  or  settlers,  were  from  Massachusetts. 

After  spending  some  three  weeks  in  and  about 
St.  Paul,  St.  Anthony,  and  Minneapolis,  we  made 
an  excursion  in  a  steamer,  some  three  hundred 
or  more  miles  up  the  Minnesota  (St.  Peter's) 
Eiver,  to  Redwood,  or  the  Lower  Sioux  Agency, 
in  order  to  see  the  plains,  and  the  Sioux,  who 
were  to  receive  their  annual  payment  there. 
This  is  eminently  the  river  of  Minnesota  (for 
she  shares  the  Mississippi  with  Wisconsin),  and 
it  is  of  incalculable  value  to  her.  It  flows 
through  a  very  fertile  country,  destined  to  be 
famous  for  its  wheat ;  but  it  is  a  remarkably 
winding  stream,  so  that  Redwood  is  only  half  as 
far  from  its  mouth  by  land  as  by  water.  There 
was  not  a  straight  reach  a  mile  in  length  as  far 
as  we  went,  —  generally  you  could  not  see  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  water,  and  the  boat  was 
steadily  turning  this  way  or  that.  At  the  greater 
bends,  as  the  Traverse  des  Sioux,  some  of  the 
passengers  were  landed,  and  walked  across  to  be 
taken  in  on  the  other  side.  Two  or  three  times 
you  could  have  thrown  a  stone  across  the  neck 
of  the  isthmus,  while  it  was  from  one  to  three 
miles  around  it.  It  was  a  very  novel  kind  of 


2ET.  43.]  TO  F.  B.  SANBORN.  449 

navigation  to  me.  The  boat  was  perhaps  the 
largest  that  had  been  up  so  high,  and  the  water 
was  rather  low  (it  had  been  about  fifteen  feet 
higher).  In  making  a  short  turn,  we  repeatedly 
and  designedly  ran  square  into  the  steep  and 
soft  bank,  taking  in  a  cart-load  of  earth,  —  this 
being  more  effectual  than  the  rudder  to  fetch  us 
about  again ;  or  the  deeper  water  was  so  narrow 
and  close  to  the  shore,  that  we  were  obliged  to 
run  into  and  break  down  at  least  fifty  trees 
which  overhung  the  water,  when  we  did  not  cut 
them  off,  repeatedly  losing  a  part  of  our  out 
works,  though  the  most  exposed  had  been  taken 
in.  I  could  pluck  almost  any  plant  on  the  bank 
from  the  boat.  We  very  frequently  got  aground, 
and  then  drew  ourselves  along  with  a  windlass 
and  a  cable  fastened  to  a  tree,  or  we  swung 
round  in  the  current,  and  completely  blocked  up 
and  blockaded  the  river,  one  end  of  the  boat 
resting  on  each  shore.  And  yet  we  would  haul 
ourselves  round  again  with  the  windlass  and  ca 
ble  in  an  hour  or  two,  though  the  boat  was  about 
one  hundred  and  sixty  feet  long,  and  drew  some 
three  feet  of  water,  or,  often,  water  and  sand. 
It  was  one  consolation  to  know  that  in  such  a 
case  we  were  all  the  while  damming  the  river, 
and  so  raising  it.  We  once  ran  fairly  on  to  a 
concealed  rock,  with  a  shock  that  aroused  all  the 
passengers,  and  rested  there,  and  the  mate  went 


450          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

below  with  a  lamp,  expecting  to  find  a  hole,  but 
he  did  not.  Snags  and  sawyers  were  so  common 
that  I  forgot  to  mention  them.  The  sound  of 
the  boat  rumbling  over  one  was  the  ordinary 
music.  However,  as  long  as  the  boiler  did  not 
burst,  we  knew  that  no  serious  accident  was 
likely  to  happen.  Yet  this  was  a  singularly 
navigable  river,  more  so  than  the  Mississippi 
above  the  Falls,  and  it  is  owing  to  its  very  crook 
edness.  Ditch  it  straight,  and  it  would  not  only 
be  very  swift,  but  soon  run  out.  It  was  from 
ten  to  fifteen  rods  wide  near  the  mouth,  and 
from  eight  to  ten  or  twelve  at  Redwood.  Though 
the  current  was  swift,  I  did  not  see  a  "  rip  "  on 
it,  and  only  three  or  four  rocks.  For  three 
months  in  the  year  I  am  told  that  it  can  be  nav 
igated  by  small  steamers  about  twice  as  far  as 
we  went,  or  to  its  source  in  Big  Stone  Lake ; 
and  a  former  Indian  agent  told  me  that  at  high 
water  it  was  thought  that  such  a  steamer  might 
pass  into  the  Red  River. 

In  short,  this  river  proved  so  very  long  and 
navigable,  that  I  was  reminded  of  the  last  letter 
or  two  in  the  voyage  of  the  Baron  la  Hontan 
(written  near  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  cen 
tury,  I  think),  in  which  he  states,  that,  after 
reaching  the  Mississippi  (by  the  Illinois  or  Wis 
consin),  the  limit  of  previous  exploration  west 
ward,  he  voyaged  up  it  with  his  Indians,  and  at 


JET.  43.]  TO  R  B.  SANBORN.  451 

length  turned  up  a  great  river  coming  in  from 
the  west,  which  he  called  "La  Riviere  Longue;" 
and  he  relates  various  improbable  things  about 
the  country  and  its  inhabitants,  so  that  this  let 
ter  has  been  regarded  as  pure  fiction,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  a  lie.  But  I  am  somewhat 
inclined  now  to  reconsider  the  matter. 

The  Governor  of  Minnesota  (Ramsay),  the 
superintendent  of  Indian  affairs  in  this  quarter, 
and  the  newly-appointed  Indian  agent  were  on 
board ;  also  a  German  band  from  St.  Paul,  a 
small  cannon  for  salutes,  and  the  money  for  the 
Indians  (ay,  and  the  gamblers,  it  was  said,  who 
were  to  bring  it  back  in  another  boat).  There 
were  about  one  hundred  passengers,  chiefly  from 
St.  Paul,  and  more  or  less  recently  from  the 
northeastern  States;  also  half  a  dozen  young 
educated  Englishmen.  Chancing  to  speak  with 
one  who  sat  next  to  me,  when  the  voyage  was 
nearly  half  over,  I  found  that  he  was  the  son 
of  the  Rev.  Samuel  May,1  and  a  classmate  of 
yours,  and  had  been  looking  for  us  at  St.  An 
thony. 

The  last  of  the  little  settlements  on  the  river 
was  New  Ulm,  about  one  hundred  miles  this  side 
of  Redwood.  It  consists  wholly  of  Germans. 
We  left  them  one  hundred  barrels  of  salt,  which 
will  be  worth  something  more,  when  the  water 
is  lowest,  than  at  present. 

1  Rev.  Joseph  May,  a  cousin  of  Louisa  Alcott. 


452          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

Kedwood  is  a  mere  locality,  —  scarcely  an  In 
dian  village,  —  where  there  is  a  store,  and  some 
houses  have  been  built  for  them.  We  were  now 
fairly  on  the  great  plains,  and  looking  south ; 
and,  after  walking  that  way  three  miles,  could 
see  no  tree  in  that  horizon.  The  buffalo  was 
said  to  be  feeding  within  twenty-five  or  thirty 
miles. 

A  regular  council  was  held  with  the  Indians, 
who  had  come  in  on  their  ponies,  and  speeches 
were  made  on  both  sides  through  an  interpreter, 
quite  in  the  described  mode,  —  the  Indians,  as 
usual,  having  the  advantage  in  point  of  truth 
and  earnestness,  and  therefore  of  eloquence. 
The  most  prominent  chief  was  named  Little 
Crow.  They  were  quite  dissatisfied  with  the 
white  man's  treatment  of  them,  and  probably 
have  reason  to  be  so.  This  council  was  to  be 
continued  for  two  or  three  days,  —  the  payment 
to  be  made  the  second  day ;  and  another  pay 
ment  to  other  bands  a  little  higher  up,  on  the 
Yellow  Medicine  (a  tributary  of  the  Minnesota), 
a  few  days  thereafter. 

In  the  afternoon,  the  half -naked  Indians  per 
formed  a  dance,  at  the  request  of  the  Governor, 
for  our  amusement  and  their  own  benefit ;  and 
then  we  took  leave  of  them,  and  of  the  officials 
who  had  come  to  treat  with  them. 

Excuse  these  pencil  marks,  but  my  inkstand 


JST.  43.]  TO  F.  B.  SANBORN.  453 

is  unscrewable,  and  I  can  only  direct  my  letter 
at  the  bar.  I  could  tell  you  more,  and  perhaps 
more  interesting  things,  if  I  had  time.  I  am 
considerably  better  than  when  I  left  home,  but 
still  far  from  well. 

Our  faces  are  already  set  toward  home.  Will 
you  please  let  my  sister  know  that  we  shall  prob- 
cibly  start  for  Milwaukee  and  Mackinaw  in  a 
day  or  two  (or  as  soon  as  we  hear  from  home) 
ma  Prairie  du  Chien,  and  not  La  Crosse. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  have  written  to 
Cholmondeley,1  as  it  relieves  me  of  some  respon 
sibility. 

The  tour  described  in  this  long  letter  was  the 
first  and  last  that  Thoreau  ever  made  west  of  the 
Mohawk  Valley,  though  his  friend  Channing  had 
early  visited  the  great  prairies,  and  lived  in  log- 
cabins  of  Illinois,  or  sailed  on  the  chain  of  great 
lakes,  by  which  Thoreau  made  a  part  of  this 
journey.  It  was  proposed  that  Channing  should 
accompany  him  this  time,  as  he  had  in  the  tour 
through  Lower  Canada,  and  along  Cape  Cod,  as 
well  as  in  the  journeys  through  the  Berkshire 
and  Catskill  mountains,  and  down  the  Hudson ; 
but  some  misunderstanding  or  temporary  incon 
venience  prevented.  The  actual  comrade  was 

1  I  had  answered  T.  Cholmondeley's  last  letter,  explaining1 
that  Thoreau  was  ill  and  absent. 


454          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

young  Horace  Mann,  eldest  son  of  the  school-re 
former  and  statesman  of  that  name,  —  a  silent, 
earnest,  devoted  naturalist,  who  died  early.  The 
place  where  his  party  met  the  Indians  —  only  a 
few  months  before  the  Minnesota  massacre  of 
1862  —  was  in  the  county  of  Eedwood,  in  the 
southwest  of  the  State,  where  now  is  a  thriving 
village  of  1,500  people,  and  no  buffaloes  within 
five  hundred  miles.  Redwing,  whence  the  letter 
was  written,  is  below  St.  Paul,  on  the  Mississippi, 
and  was  even  then  a  considerable  town,  —  now  a 
city  of  7,000  people.  The  civil  war  had  lately 
begun,  and  the  whole  North  was  in  the  first  flush 
of  its  uprising  in  defense  of  the  Union,  —  for 
which  Thoreau,  in  spite  of  his  earlier  defiance  of 
government  (for  its  alliance  with  slavery)  was 
as  zealous  as  any  soldier.  He  returned  in  July, 
little  benefited  by  the  journey,  of  which  he  did 
not  take  his  usual  sufficiency  of  notes,  and  to 
which  there  is  little  allusion  in  his  books.  Nor 
does  it  seem  that  he  visited  on  the  way  his  corre 
spondent  since  January,  1856,  —  C.  H.  Green, 
of  Rochester,  Michigan,  who  had  never  seen 
him  in  Concord.  The  opinion  of  Thoreau  him 
self  concerning  this  journey  will  be  found  in  his 
next  letter  to  Daniel  Ricketson. 


*T.44.]  TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  455 

TO   DANIEL   KICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  August  15,  1861. 

FRIEND  KICKETSON,  —  When  your  last  letter 
was  written  I  was  away  in  the  far  Northwest,  in 
search  of  health.  My  cold  turned  to  bronchitis, 
which  made  me  a  close  prisoner  almost  up  to  the 
moment  of  my  starting  on  that  journey,  early  in 
May.  As  I  had  an  incessant  cough,  my  doctor 
told  me  that  I  must  "clear  out,"  —  to  the  West 
Indies,  or  elsewhere,  —  so  I  selected  Minnesota. 
I  returned  a  few  weeks  ago,  after  a  good  deal 
of  steady  traveling,  considerably,  yet  not  essen 
tially,  better ;  my  cough  still  continuing.  If  I 
don't  mend  very  quickly,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  go 
to  another  climate  again  very  soon. 

My  ordinary  pursuits,  both  indoors  and  out, 
have  been  for  the  most  part  omitted,  or  seri 
ously  interrupted,  —  walking,  boating,  scribbling, 
etc.  Indeed,  I  have  been  sick  so  long  that  I 
have  almost  forgotten  what  it  is  to  be  well ;  and 
yet  I  feel  that  it  is  in  all  respects  only  my  en 
velope.  Channing  and  Emerson  are  as  well  as 
usual;  but  Alcott,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  has  for 
some  time  been  more  or  less  confined  by  a  lame 
ness,  perhaps  of  a  neuralgic  character,  occasioned 
by  carrying  too  great  a  weight  on  his  back  while 
gardening. 

On  returning  home,  I  found  various  letters 


456         FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1861, 

awaiting  me ;  among  others,  one  from  Cholmonde- 
ley,  and  one  from  yourself. 

Of  course  I  am  sufficiently  surprised  to  hear 
of  your  conversion ; 1  yet  I  scarcely  know  what 
to  say  about  it,  unless  that,  judging  by  your 
account,  it  appears  to  me  a  change  which  con 
cerns  yourself  peculiarly,  and  will  not  make  you 
more  valuable  to  mankind.  However,  perhaps  I 
must  see  you  before  I  can  judge. 

Kemembering  your  numerous  invitations,  I 
write  this  short  note  now,  chiefly  to  say  that,  if 
you  are  to  be  at  home,  and  it  will  be  quite  agree 
able  to  you,  I  will  pay  you  a  visit  next  week,  and 
take  such  rides  or  sauntering  walks  with  you  as 
an  invalid  may. 

The  visit  was  made,  and  we  owe  to  it  the  pres 
ervation  of  the  latest  portraiture  of  Thoreau, 
who,  at  his  friend's  urgency,  sat  to  a  photogra 
pher  in  New  Bedford ;  and  thus  we  have  the  full- 
bearded  likeness  of  August,  1861 ;  from  which, 
also,  and  from  personal  recollection,  Mr.  Walter 
Ricketson  made  the  fine  profile  medallion  en 
graved  for  this  volume. 

1  A  return  to  religious  Quakerism,  of  which  his  friend  had 
written  enthusiastically. 


2ET.  44.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  457 

TO   DANIEL   RICKETSON    (AT   NEW   BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  October  14,  1861. 

FKIEND  RICKETSON,  —  I  think  that,  on  the 
whole,  my  health  is  better  than  when  you  were 
here;  but  my  faith  in  the  doctors  has  not  in 
creased.  I  thank  you  all  for  your  invitation  to 
come  to  New  Bedford,  but  I  suspect  that  it  must 
still  be  warmer  here  than  there;  that,  indeed, 
New  Bedford  is  warmer  than  Concord  only  in 
the  winter,  and  so  I  abide  by  Concord. 

September  was  pleasanter  and  much  better  for 
me  than  August,  and  October  has  thus  far  been 
quite  tolerable.  Instead  of  riding  on  horse 
back,  I  ride  in  a  wagon  about  every  other  day. 
My  neighbor,  Mr.  E.  R.  Hoar,  has  two  horses, 
and  he,  being  away  for  the  most  part  this  fall, 
has  generously  offered  me  the  use  of  one  of  them ; 
and,  as  I  notice,  the  dog  throws  himself  in,  and 
does  scouting  duty. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  you  no  longer  chew,  but 
eschew,  sugar-plums.  One  of  the  worst  effects 
of  sickness  is,  that  it  may  get  one  into  the  habit 
of  taking  a  little  something  —  his  bitters,  or 
sweets,  as  if  for  his  bodily  good  —  from  time  to 
time,  when  he  does  not  need  it.  However,  there 
is  no  danger  of  this  if  you  do  not  dose  even  when 
you  are  sick. 

I  went  with  a  Mr.  Rodman,  a  young  man  of 


458  FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1861, 

your  town,  here  the  other  day,  or  week,  looking 
at  farms  for  sale,  and  rumor  says  that  he  is  in 
clined  to  buy  a  particular  one.  Channing  says 
that  he  received  his  book,  but  has  not  got  any  of 
yours. 

It  is  easy  to  talk,  but  hard  to  write. 

From  the  worst  of  all  correspondents, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU. 

No  later  letter  than  this  was  written  by  Tho- 
reau's  own  hand ;  for  he  was  occupied  all  the 
winter  of  1861-62,  when  he  could  write,  in  pre 
paring  his  manuscripts  for  the  press.  Nothing 
appeared  before  his  death,  but  in  June,  1862, 
Mr.  Fields,  then  editing  the  "  Atlantic,"  printed 
"  Walking,"  —  the  first  of  three  essays  which 
came  out  in  that  magazine  the  same  year.  No 
thing  of  Thoreau's  had  been  accepted  for  the 
"Atlantic"  since  1858,  when  he  withdrew  the 
rest  of  "  Chesuncook,"  then  coming  out  in  its 
pages,  because  the  editor  (Mr.  Lowell)  had  made 
alterations  in  the  manuscript.  In  April,  just 
before  his  death,  the  "Atlantic  "  printed  a  short 
and  characteristic  sketch  of  Thoreau  by  Bronson 
Alcott,  and  in  August,  Emerson's  funeral  ora 
tion,  given  in  the  parish  church  of  Concord. 
During  the  last  six  months  of  his  illness,  his  sis 
ter  and  his  friends  wrote  letters  for  him,  as  will 
be  seen  by  the  two  that  follow. 


JET.  44.]  TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  459 

SOPHIA   THOREAU   TO    DANIEL    RICKETSON    (AT   NEW 

BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  December  19,  1861. 

MR.  RICKETSON  : 

Dear  Sir,  —  Thank  you  for  your  friendly  in 
terest  in  my  dear  brother.  I  wish  that  I  could 
report  more  favorably  in  regard  to  his  health. 
Soon  after  your  visit  to  Concord,  Henry  com 
menced  riding,  and  almost  every  day  he  intro 
duced  me  to  some  of  his  familiar  haunts,  far  away 
in  the  thick  woods,  or  by  the  ponds  ;  all  very 
new  and  delightful  to  me.  The  air  and  exercise 
which  he  enjoyed  during  the  fine  autumn  days 
were  a  benefit  to  him ;  he  seemed  stronger,  had  a 
good  appetite,  and  was  able  to  attend  somewhat 
to  his  writing;  but  since  the  cold  weather  has 
come,  his  cough  has  increased,  and  he  is  able  to 
go  out  but  seldom.  Just  now  he  is  suffering 
from  an  attack  of  pleurisy,  which  confines  him 
wholly  to  the  house.  His  spirits  do  not  fail  him  ; 
he  continues  in  his  usual  serene  mood,  which  is 
very  pleasant  for  his  friends  as  well  as  himself. 
I  am  hoping  for  a  short  winter  and  early  spring, 
that  the  invalid  may  again  be  out  of  doors. 

I  am  sorry  to  hear  of  your  indisposition, 
and  trust  that  you  will  be  well  again  soon.  It 
would  give  me  pleasure  to  see  some  of  your 
newspaper  articles,  since  you  possess  a  hopeful 


460          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.        [1862, 

spirit.  My  patience  is  nearly  exhausted.  The 
times  look  very  dark.  I  think  the  next  soldier 
who  is  shot  for  sleeping  on  his  post  should  be 
Gen.  McClellan.  Why  does  he  not  do  some 
thing  in  the  way  of  fighting?  I  despair  of  ever 
living  under  the  reign  of  Sumner  or  Phillips. 

BRONSON  ALCOTT  TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON  (AT  NEW 
BEDFORD). 

CONCORD,  January  10,  1862. 

DEAR  FRIEND,  —  You  have  not  been  informed 
of  Henry's  condition  this  winter,  and  will  be 
sorry  to  hear  that  he  grows  feebler  day  by  day, 
and  is  evidently  failing  and  fading  from  our 
sight.  He  gets  some  sleep,  has  a  pretty  good 
appetite,  reads  at  intervals,  takes  notes  of  his 
readings,  and  likes  to  see  his  friends,  conversing, 
however,  with  difficulty,  as  his  voice  partakes  of 
his  general  debility.  We  had  thought  this  old 
est  inhabitant  of  our  Planet  would  have  chosen  to 
stay  and  see  it  fairly  dismissed  into  the  Chaos  (out 
of  which  he  has  brought  such  precious  jewels,  — 
gifts  to  friends,  to  mankind  generally,  diadems 
for  fame  to  coming  followers,  forgetful  of  his 
own  claims  to  the  honors)  before  he  chose  simply 
to  withdraw  from  the  spaces  and  times  he  has 
adorned  with  the  truth  of  his  genius.  But  the 
masterly  work  is  nearly  done  for  us  here.  And 
our  woods  and  fields  are  sorrowing,  though  not  in 


JET.  44.]          TO  DANIEL  RICKETSON.  461 

sombre,  but  in  robes  of  white,  so  becoming  to  the 
piety  and  probity  they  have  known  so  long,  and 
soon  are  to  miss.  There  has  been  none  such 
since  Pliny,  and  it  will  be  long  before  there 
comes  his  like  ;  the  most  sagacious  and  wonder 
ful  Worthy  of  his  time,  and  a  marvel  to  coming 
ones. 

I  write  at  the  suggestion  of  his  sister,  who 
thought  his  friends  would  like  to  be  informed  of 
his  condition  to  the  latest  date. 

Ever  yours  and  respectfully, 

A.  BRONSON  ALCOTT. 

The  last  letter  of  Henry  Thoreau,  written  by 
the  hand  of  his  sister,  was  sent  to  Myron  Benton, 
a  young  literary  man  then  living  in  Dutchess 
County,  New  York,  who  had  written  a  grateful 
letter  to  the  author  of  "  Walden  "  (January  6, 
1862),  though  quite  unacquainted  with  him. 
Mr.  Benton  said  that  the  news  of  Thoreau's  ill 
ness  had  affected  him  as  if  it  were  that  "  of 
a  personal  friend  whom  I  had  known  a  long 
time,"  and  added :  "  The  secret  of  the  influence 
by  which  your  writings  charm  me  is  altogether 
as  intangible,  though  real,  as  the  attraction  of 
Nature  herself.  I  read  and  re-read  your  books 
with  ever  fresh  delight.  Nor  is  it  pleasure  alone ; 
there  is  a  singular  spiritual  healthiness  with 
which  they  seem  imbued,  -/-  the  expression  of  a 


462          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1862, 

soul  essentially  sound,  so  free  from  any  morbid 
tendency."  After  mentioning  that  his  own  home 
was  in  a  pleasant  valley,  once  the  hunting-ground 
of  the  Indians,  Mr.  Benton  said :  — 

"  I  was  in  hope  to  read  something  more  from 
your  pen  in  Mr.  Conway's  '  Dial,' l  but  only 
recognized  that  fine  pair  of  Walden  twinlets. 
Of  your  two  books,  I  perhaps  prefer  the  '  Week,' 
—  but  after  all,  '  Walden '  is  but  little  less  a 
favorite.  In  the  former,  I  like  especially  those 
little  snatches  of  poetry  interspersed  throughout. 
I  would  like  to  ask  what  progress  you  have  made 
in  a  work  some  way  connected  with  natural  his 
tory,  —  I  think  it  was  on  Botany,  —  which  Mr. 
Emerson  told  me  something  about  in  a  short  in 
terview  I  had  with  him  two  years  ago  at  Pough- 
keepsie.  ...  If  you  should  feel  perfectly  able 
at  any  time  to  drop  me  a  few  lines,  I  would  like 
much  to  know  what  your  state  of  health  is,  and 
if  there  is,  as  I  cannot  but  hope,  a  prospect  of 
your  speedy  recovery." 

Two  months  and  more  passed  before  Thoreau 
replied ;  but  his  habit  of  performing  every  duty, 

• 

1  This  was  a  short-lived  monthly,  edited  at  Cincinnati  (1861- 
62)  by  Moncure  D.  Conway,  since  distinguished  as  an  author, 
who  had  resided  for  a  time  in  Concord,  after  leaving  his  native 
Virginia.  He  wrote  asking  Thoreau  and  all  his  Concord 
friends  to  contribute  to  this  new  Dial,  and  several  of  them 
did  so. 


JET.  44.]  TO  MYRON  B.  BENTON.  463 

whether  of  business  or  courtesy,  would  not  ex 
cuse  him  from  an  answer,  which  was  this :  — 

TO    MYRON    B.    BENTON    (AT    LEEDSVILLE,   N.   Y.). 
CONCOKD,  March  21,  1862. 

DEAR  SIR,  —  I  thank  you  for  your  very  kind 
letter,  which,  ever  since  I  received  it,  I  have  in 
tended  to  answer  before  I  died,  however  briefly. 
I  am  encouraged  to  know,  that,  so  far  as  you  are 
concerned,  I  have  not  written  my  books  in  vain. 
I  was  particularly  gratified,  some  years  ago,  when 
one  of  my  friends  and  neighbors  said,  "  I  wish 
you  would  write  another  book,  —  write  it  for 
me."  He  is  actually  more  familiar  with  what  I 
have  written  than  I  am  myself. 

The  verses  you  refer  to  in  Con  way's  "  Dial," 
were  written  by  F.  B.  Sanborn  of  this  town.  I 
never  wrote  for  that  journal. 

I  am  pleased  when  you  say  that  in  "The 
Week  "  you  like  especially  "  those  little  snatches 
of  poetry  interspersed  through  the  book,"  for 
these,  I  suppose,  are  the  least  attractive  to  most 
readers.  I  have  not  been  engaged  in  any  par 
ticular  work,  on  Botany,  or  the  like,  though,  if 
I  were  to  live,  I  should  have  much  to  report  on 
Natural  History  generally. 

You  ask  particularly  after  my  health.  I  sup 
pose  that  I  have  not  many  months  to  live  ;  but, 
of  course,  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I  may  add 


464          FRIENDS  AND  FOLLOWERS.         [1862. 

that  I  am  enjoying  existence  as  much  as  ever, 
and  regret  nothing. 

Yours  truly, 

HENRY  D.  THOREAU, 
by  SOPHIA  E.  THOREAU. 

He  died  May  6, 1862 ;  his  mother  died  March 
12,  1872,  and  his  sister  Sophia,  October,  1876. 
With  the  death  of  his  aunt,  Maria  Thoreau, 
nearly  twenty  years  after  her  beloved  nephew, 
the  last  person  of  the  name  in  America  (or  per 
haps  in  England)  passed  away. 


INDEX. 


The  year  of  graduation  at  Harvard  University  is  indicated  for  such  of 
the  persons  mentioned  in  this  Index  as  were  students  there. 


ABBY  and  Almira  (Mrs.  Miner  and 

Mrs.  Small),  182. 
Abercrombie,  Scotch  author,  29. 
Abolition  convention,  307. 
Absence,  from  Concord,  58,  79-144, 

281 ;   in  love  and  friendship,  88, 

225. 
Absorbing    employment,   218,    269, 

277,  315,  368. 
"Abuse  of  the  Bible,"  Mrs.  Mott's, 

115. 

Abuse  of  Marriage,  240,  249. 
Academy  at  Concord,  10,  27,  56. 
Academy  of  Design,  New  York,  85. 
Acclimation,  86,  92. 
Accord  in  Friendship,  66,  177,  242, 

308. 

Acorns,  426,  427. 
Action  and  Being,    191,    196,   215, 

253,  266. 

Acton,  Mass.,  410,  420,  423,  424. 
Actual  life,  8,  104,  192,  257,  273. 
Adams,  John,  3. 
Adams'  Latin  Grammar,  28. 
Adirondacs,  415,  420. 
Admetus,  king  of  Thessaly,  44,  51, 

52,  269,  410. 

Admiration,  184,  258,  392. 
Ado  about  things,  8,  215,  236. 
Adolescentula,  E.  White,  31,  35. 
Adoration  of  Nature,  42,  75. 
Advice,  28,  29,  78,  137,  144, 160,  172, 

214,  224. 

.Eolian  harp,  239. 
Aerial  effects,  105. 
Aerial  rivers,  67. 
jEschylus,  translated,  70,  121. 
Africa,  233. 
Agassiz,  Louis,  and  Thoreau,  149- 

157  ;  mentioned,  165, 176,  363,  401. 
Age  of  achievement,  143-219. 
Agiocochook,  N.  H.,  44. 
Agriculturist  newspaper,  127. 
Aims  in  life,  xi,  54,  69,  79,  105,  117, 


141,  191,  197,  208,  225,  292,  307, 
328. 

Alabama,  334. 

Alcott,  A.  Bronson  (b.  1799,  d. 
1888),  58,  60,  70,  72,  73-6,  99,  124, 
148,  161,  163,  173,  175,  181,  183-5, 
189,  228-9,  287,  299,  332,  338,  357, 
364,  388,  396,  402,  414;  436,  438, 
441,  460  ;  acquaintance  with  Tho 
reau,  58,  60,  75, 163, 164, 181,  etc.  ; 
at  home  in  Fruitlands,  75,  99  ;  in 
Boston,  285  ;  in  Walpole,  332  ;  in 
Concord,  at  Orchard  House,  388, 
435;  builds  Emerson's  summer- 
house,  161-163 ;  in  Concord  jail, 
60  ;  chosen  school  sup't,  436  ;  di 
ary  of,  348  ;  holds  conversations 
in  Concord,  60,  75, 402  ;  in  Eagles- 
wood,  N.  J.,  340;  in  New  York, 
333,  348  ;  dines  with  Thoreau,  61  ; 
visits  with  Thoreau  in  New  Bed 
ford,  357  ;  in  Plymouth,  364  ;  in 
Brooklyn,  349;  describes  Walt 
Whitman,  349  ;  at  Thoreau's  fu 
neral,  76  ;  letter  from,  460  ;  letter 
to,  332. 

Alcott,  Mrs.  A.  B.,  333,  436. 

Alcott,  Louisa  May,  333,  377,  436. 

Alehouse,  in  New  York,  94. 

Alexander  the  Great,  ix. 

Alfieri,  352. 

Allegash,  Maine  river,  382. 

Allen,  Phineas,  10. 

All  for  love,  243. 

Almshouse  (of  Concord),  91,175,400. 

Alone  in  the  world,  197. 

Alpheus,  Grecian  river,  109. 

America,  its  commercial  spirit,  8,  9 ; 
its  Indians,  13-21,  130,  239,  292, 
313,  339,  366,  369, 452 ;  mentioned, 
321. 

Americana,  Encyclopedia,  20,  21. 

American  authors,  viii,  20,  27,  51, 
57,  59,  61,  68,  76,  80,  94-96,  110, 


466 


INDEX. 


112,  123,  128,  133,  139,  143,  149, 
154,  173,  174,  184,  190,  203,  207, 
220, 228, 229,  283, 313, 321, 324, 340, 
345,  348,  357,  364,  388,  396,  401, 
421,  458,  461. 

American  bards,  137,  341. 

American  birds,  14,  23,  26,  31,  34, 
48,  88,  184,  227,  270,  409,  425,  434. 

American  characteristics,  9,  93,  101, 
127,  130,  165,  252,  276,  434. 

American  cities,  81,  93,  130,  225, 
335,  348,  397,  401. 

American  politics,  18,  19,  168,  334, 
414. 

American  privateer,  General  Lin 
coln,  3. 

American  Revolution,  11,  414. 

Ainherst,  N.  H.,  354. 

Amcenitates  Botanicse,  a  book,  249. 

Anavvan,  an  Indian,  16. 

Anchoring  a  mountain,  376. 

Ancients,  wisdom  of  the,  136,  350, 
351. 

Annihilation  Company,  233. 

Anti-Sabbath  convention,  189. 

Anti-slavery  meetings,  302, 413,  414. 

Anti-Slavery  Standard,  The,  53,  289. 

Appearances,  213,  274. 

Apples,  Baldwin,  256;  Dead  Sea, 
411 ;  frozen-thawed,  214  ;  of  Hes- 
perides,  256  ;  planted  byThoreau, 
427. 

Architecture,  Alcott's,  163. 

"Architecture,  Seven  Lamps  of" 
(Ruskin),  374. 

Arnica  mollis,  389,  390. 

Arnold,  Benedict,  378,  379. 

Arnold,  Mr.,  396. 

Armies,  307,  378,  411. 

Arrow-heads,  4,  20,  114. 

Art,  112,  374. 

Ash-man,  is  God  an  ?  294. 

Ask  to  see  God,  197. 

Asnebumskit,  234,  329,  330. 

Assabet,  the  river,  vii,  318. 

Assawampsett,  313. 

Assisting  Nature,  314. 

Associations :  Brook  Farm,  372 ; 
Fourierite,  96,  115,  124,  372. 

Assyria,  253,  270. 

Astor  House,  New  York,  131. 

Astor  Library,  335. 

Astronomy  at  Cambridge,  159,  164  ; 
at  Concord,  159. 

Atlantic  Monthly,  284,  458. 

Atlantic  Ocean,  x,  15,  82,  98,  220, 
230,  304,  353,  412. 

Atlas,  the  Giant,  292,  418. 

Aulus  Persius,  3,  189. 

Australian  Englishman,  393. 


Australasia,  Cholmondeley  in,  284. 
Autobiographies     of     Gibbon    and 

Goethe,  352  ;  of  Haydon,  269,  352. 
Autumn,  a  poem,  137 ;  the  season, 

43,  333. 

"Autumnal  Tints,"  395,  406. 
Autuinnus,  44. 
Awe  at  visiting  mountains,  374. 

BABYLON,  ancient,  270. 

Babylon,  N.  Y.,  121. 

Bacon  mentioned,  136. 

Bacchus,    Whitman    compared    to. 

349. 

Bag  of  gold  in  swimming,  373. 
Baldwin  apples,  256. 
Bangor,  Me.,  142,  158,  381. 
Banks,  194  ;  failures  of,  371-373. 
Barberries,   187,   211;   barberrying, 

413. 
Bartlett,  Dr.  Josiah  (H.   U.   1816), 

164,  182,  184,  301. 
Bartlett,  Robert  (H.  U.  1836),  68. 
Battery,  New  York,  101. 
Battles,  410  ;  in  the  cloud,  384. 
Bay  of    New    York,   125,   336;    of 

Plymouth,  353. 
Beach  at  Fire  Island,  220,  223 ;  at 

Staten  Island,  x,  83,   98,  102;  at 

Truro,  302,  305,  412. 
Beasts,  251,  432. 

"Beauties  of  Ancient  English  Poe 
try,"  77. 
Beauty,   239;    Emerson's    Ode  to, 

137-140  ;  Ruskin  on,  374. 
Beautiful  laws,  213. 
Beecher,  Henry  Ward,  340. 
Bedfellows,  263,  273. 
Beer,   small  and  strong,  168,   178, 

179. 

Beggars,  344. 
Beggar-ticks,  338. 
Behemoth,  278. 
Bellew,  F.,  an  artist.  335. 
Bellows,  Rev.  H.  W.  (H.  U.  1832), 

125. 

Bemis,  George,  Concord  printer,  19. 
Benjamin,  Park,  128. 
Bemiet's  account  of  Middleborough, 

313. 

Benton,  Myron  B.,  461. 
Berkshire,  mentioned,   324. 
Berries,  25,  133. 

Betty's  Neck,  Middleborough,  313. 
Biberg,  J.  (naturalist),  quoted,  249. 
Bible,  mentioned,  74,  116,  136. 
Bigelow,  Dr.  J.,  21. 
Birney,  James  G.,  333-381. 
Birth,  spiritual,  254. 
Black,  Mrs.,  97. 


INDEX. 


467 


Black,  Sam  (a  cat),  32,  36. 

Blake,  Harrison  Gray  Otis  (H.  U. 
1835),  189-191,  228,  280,  329;  let 
ters  from,  190,  209,  251,  281 ;  let 
ters  to,  192,  197,  208,  209,  213, 
216,  223,  234,  237,  251,  261,  2G6, 
271,  275,  289,  291,  301-308,  316, 
326-332,  339-347,  354,  357,  359, 
368-378,  385,  389,  409,  413,  415- 
425,  428,  443;  tours  with,  235, 
282,  388;  visits  from,  190,  301, 
316. 

Blakians,  sugar  candy,  329. 

Blood,  Perez,  159,  160,  164. 

Blueberries,  25,  429. 

Bluebirds,  14,23,  24,  396,  434. 

Bluebird  box,  24. 

Blue-eyed  grass,  42. 

Bluffs,  in  Minnesota,  446. 

Body  and  soul,  198,  218,  257. 

Bonaparte,  anecdote  of,  277. 

Bonnets  of  Quakers,  115. 

Books,  catalogue  of,  69,  73,  311. 

Boston,  Agassiz  in,  149-157  ;  Alcott 
in,  228,  285  ;  clubs  ridiculed,  401 ; 
"  Dial"  mentioned,  44,  67,  69-74, 
89,  92,  99,  103,  111,  128,  135-139, 
141  ;  lectures  and  lecturers,  154, 
227,  228,  231,  413  ;  Miscellany,  99, 
103,  122  ;  packet  for  Cape  Cod, 
303,  304  ;  publishers,  99,  122,  166, 
219,  281,  311,  388,  458. 

Botany,  Thoreau's  skill  in,  1,  282, 
287. 

Botta,  Mrs.  Anne  Lynch,  348. 

Bradbury  and  Soden,  publishers, 
99,  122. 

Bradford,  George  P.  (H.  U.  1825), 
74,  364. 

Bradford,  T.  G.  (H.  U.  1822),  20. 

Brahma,  210. 

Brahmins,  270,  351. 

Brattleboro,  Vt.,  332. 

Bread,  discourse  on,  197-199,  307; 
daily,  205  ;  mentioned,  317. 

Briars,  a  field  near  Walden,  145. 

Bride  and  bridegroom,  240,  249,  354. 

Broadway,  New  York,  83,  101,  335, 
341.  ' 

Brooklawn,  New  Bedford,  311,  320. 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.,  82,  339,  346,  348. 

Brown,  Deacon  Reuben,  169. 

Brown,  John,  of  Osawatomie,  339, 
392,  415,  420 ;  comes  to  Concord, 
414;  his  capture  and  execution, 
413-415  ;  is  eulogized  by  Thoreau, 
414 ;  his  companions,  422-424. 

Brown,  John,  Jr.,  son  of  preceding, 
visits  North  Elba  and  Boston,  420. 

Brown,  Mrs.     See  Jackson. 


Brown,   Theo.,   of  Worcester,   287, 

301,   331,  335,  342,  345,  358,  368, 

389,  406. 
Brown,  Dr.  Thomas,  of  Edinburgh, 

29. 

Browne,  Sir  Thomas,  183. 
Brownson,  0.  A.,  4. 
Buddhist,  128. 
Buffaloes,  14,  17,  130. 
Buffum,  Arnold,  337. 
Bull,  E.  W.  (Concord  grape),  436. 
Bulwer,  Lord  Lytton,  31,  34. 
Bunsen,  works  of,  321. 
Burnham,  a  Boston  bookseller,  311. 
Burning  woods,  168,  363,  391. 
Burns,  Thoreau's  grandmother,  6. 
Business,   remarks  on,  8,  127,  186, 

204,  206,  372,  410. 
Butternuts,  in  New  York,  19. 
Buying  clothes,  127,  271 ;  a  house, 

169-172 ;  wood,  294. 

CABMEN  of  New  York,  81. 

Cabot,  J.  Elliott  (H.  U.  1840),  149, 

155,  226  ;  letters  to,  150-154,  186  ; 

letters  from  155,  157,  227. 
Cactus,  32,  36. 
Caddis-worms,  153. 
Cadi,  Turkish,  270. 
Cage,  lion  in,  404. 
Cake,  for  journeys,  383. 
Calcutta,  bishop  of  (R.  Heber),  284. 
Calf,  the  young  bunting,  162. 
California,  252,  260,  366. 
Calling  in  life,  78,  117, 129,  144,  187, 

196.  202,  206,  210,  218,  234,  254, 

264. 
Calyx,  239  ;  the  thalamus  or  bridal 

chamber,  250. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  4, 7,  10, 52,  77-79, 

130,  154,   159,  165,  272,  286,  299, 

300,   336,  361,  364;  library,  299; 

observatory,  159,  164. 
Camp,    Thoreau's,    on    Monadnoc, 

422. 

Camping  out,  421,  429,  432. 
Canada,   mentioned,   259,  297,  324, 

378-380,  398,  399  ;  story,  207,  260  ; 

lynx,  427. 

Candidates,  17,  19,  168,  232,  254. 
Candor,  in  friendship,  66,  95,  163. 
Canoes,  130,  301,  379-382. 
Canton,  Mass.,  Thoreau's  school  at, 

4. 
Cape  Cod,  mentioned,  290,  302-305, 

366,  367  ;   excursions  to,  302,  359, 

366,  412. 
Cares,  310,  416. 
Carlisle,  Mass.,  17,  19,  160. 
Carlton  House,  New  York,  64, 


468 


INDEX. 


Carlyle,  Thomas,  mentioned,  57,  73, 
95,  112,  120,  184,  185,  203,  296  ; 
reviewed  by  Emerson,  112,  120; 
by  Thoreau,  203. 

Carpet-race,  59,  64. 

Carver,  Mass.,  311. 

Cascade,  Silver,  44. 

Cases  in  court,  Wyman's,  124  ;  San- 
born's,  420  ;  other  cases,  272. 

Castle  Garden,  New  York,  80. 

Castleton,  Staten  Island,  80,  84,  85, 
87,  89,  92,  100,  124. 

Catacombs,  193,  215. 

Catastomus  tubercukttus,  etc.,  15G, 
157. 

Catherine,  a  Concord  family,  2. 

Catholic  Church,  146,  293. 

Cat-naps,  126. 

Cats  in  Thoreau  family,  viii,  36  ;  in 
Worcester,  342. 

Cattle  show  in  Concord,  133. 

Caucomgomoc,  Me.,  382. 

Cedar-post,  life  of,  344. 

Celestial  City,  197. 

Celestial  cows,  269. 

Celestial  Empire,  105. 

"  Celestial  Railroad,"  143. 

Cellar,  of  meeting-house,  377 ;  of 
Walden  hut,  188. 

Celtis-seeds,  357. 

Centrifugal  force  of  whim,  184. 

Cents  and  dollars,  150,  205. 

Ceremonies,  105,  270. 

Chagrin,  Goethe's,  202. 

Chaleur,  bay  of,  380. 

Chamber  in  Concord,  309,  314,  324. 

Chambers  of  Silence,  278. 

Chamberlain  Lake  in  Maine,  381, 
382. 

Change  is  change,  193. 

Channing,  Ellen  Fuller,  wife  of  El- 
lery,  49. 

Channing,  Ellery  (W.  E.  Channing 
the  Younger),  49,  68,  76,  94,  110- 
112,  123,  135,  139,  143-145,  175, 
181,  184,  229,  231,  283,  285-287, 
297,  300,  302,  303,  305,  314,  320, 
322-325,  359,  364,  383,  384,  389, 
392,  396,  400,  401 ;  quoted,  viii,  ix, 
1,  77,  144. 

Channing,  Rev.  William  Henry  (H. 
U.  1829),  cousin  of  Ellery,  96,  114, 
123,  140,  220,  222. 

Channing,  William  Francis  (son  of 
Dr.  W.  E.  Channing,  and  cousin 
of  the  two  named  above),  men 
tioned,  229. 

Chapin,  Rev.  E.  H.  (H.  U.  1845),  72. 

Chapman,  John,  London  publisher, 
321. 


Character,  of  Alcott,  181,  184;  of 
John  Brown,  414 ;  of  W.  E.  Chan 
ning,  325  ;  of  W.  H.  Channing,  96, 
141 ;  of  T.  Cholmondeley,  284,  321; 
of  D.  Ricketson,  283, 306  ;  of  Walt 
Whitman,  340,  345-349. 

Charleston,  S.  C.,  334. 

Chastity  and  sensuality,  231,  245- 
251,  345. 

Chateaubriand,  13. 

Chatham  Street,  93. 

Chaucer,  mentioned,  90 ;  quoted, 
122. 

Chaudiere,  the  river,  380. 

Cherries,  25,  84. 

Cheshire,  England,  284. 

Chesuncook,  Me.,  259,  381,  458. 

Chicago,  visited  by  Thoreau,  444  ; 
by  B.  B.  Wiley,  349. 

Chickadees,  115,  425. 

Child,  Mrs.  Lydia  Maria,  120. 

China,  105,  290. 

Chippeway  Indians,  130. 

Cholmondeley,  Rev.  Charles,  284, 
285. 

Cholmondeley,  Thomas,  282-286, 
289,  295,  299,  320,  321,  348,  358, 
397-399,  406,  409,  439-444  ;  books 
sent  by,  319,  321 ;  letter  from, 
321,  348,  439  ;  letter  to,  295-298. 

Christ,  215,  233. 

Christian,  59, 123,  134. 

"  Christian  Examiner,"  118. 

Christianity,  105. 

Christmas,  174,  200. 

Clark,  Farmer,  169. 

Clark's  Island,  353,  364. 

Clark,  the  Swedenborgian,  175. 

Church,  93,  115,  235,  270,  272  ; 
Catholic,  146,  293. 

City  and  swamp,  225. 

City  of  God,  268,  405. 

Clergyman,  English,  284,  285,  321. 

Club  at  Parker  House,  401  ;  Town 
and  Country,  401. 

Coffee,  382. 

Coffee-grounds,  216. 

Cold  weather,  14,  30-36,  297. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  352. 

"  Come  to  Concord  !  "  331. 

Commerce,  121. 

Conantum  in  Concord,  168. 

Concord,  Mass.,  its  academy,  10,  27, 
56  ;  aspect  of,  14,  42,  43,  79,  109, 
168,  210  ;  cliffs  of,  31,  34, 124,  184  ; 
Lyceum,  4,  56,  60,  61,  72,  173,  180, 
185,  187,  323  ;  people,  and  houses, 
2-5, 15, 19,  23,  39,  49,  56-58,  60-63, 
75,76,  110,  111 ;  schools,  4,  10,  25, 
56,  377. 


INDEX. 


469 


Concord  River,  2,  89,  109,  316. 
Condover,  England,  283,  443. 
Conduct,  regulation   of,  viii,  9,  38, 

66,  90,  105,  141,  194,  200,  213,  224, 
247. 

Confucius,  quoted,  350,  351. 
Congress  water  and  oratorios,  27G. 
Connecticut  River,  333. 
Conversations,  75,  76,  402. 
Conway,   Moncure  Daniel    (H.    U. 

1854),  462. 

Coombs,  Neighbor,  168,  185. 
Correction,  House  of,  403. 
Cotes,  Lady  Louisa,  443. 
Counts  among  immigrants,  131. 
Cowper,  the  poet,  306,  325. 
Crimea,  320 ;   war  in  the,  286,  294, 

298. 

Cuckoo  characters,  193. 
Cuffing  a  subject,  174. 
Cur    circling    his    master's   chaise, 

196. 
Curtis,   George   William,    169,  309, 

399. 

Cutler,  E.  J.  (H.  U.  1853),  336. 
Cuttyhunk,  the  island,  394. 
Cytherea  choros  ducit,  31. 

DACE,  a  fish,  152, 157. 

Daily  bread,  197,  205,  307. 

Daily  life,   101,  194,  236,  252,  276, 

291,  297,  310,  326,  342,  367. 
Dam,   in    Concord   street,   316  ;  in 

Minnesota  river,  449. 
Dandelions,  48,  262. 
Dauesaz,  145. 
Daniel,  S.,  quoted,  264. 
Dare  to   be   singular,   12,   39,   208, 

215. 

Darkness,  278,  342. 
Darwin,  Charles,  mentioned,  442. 
Davenant's  "Gondibert,"  78. 
Davis,  Josiah,  of  Concord,  his  house, 

Dawn,  43,  181,  265. 

Day  and  night,  291,  342,  343,  360. 

Day-dreams,  44,  46,  110,  121,  217. 

Day-owls,  270. 

Day-wages,  205,  251. 

Decalogue,  for  whom  made,  201. 

Delay,  in  life,  236  ;  in  dying,  407. 

Demons,  108,  293,  315,  388. 

Destiny,  51 ;  our  own  work,  417. 

Devil,  226,  265  ;  the  printer's,  378. 

Dew  of  sixpences,  98. 

"  Dial,"  the  quarterly  magazine,  44, 

67,  69-74,  89,  92,  99,  103,  111,  128, 
135-139,  143,  149,  187,  190. 

Dialect,  abominable,  74. 
Difference  of  men  and  women,  238. 


Diogenes,  ix. 

Diploma,  old  joke  of,  165. 

Dip-nets  in  twilight,  395. 

Discipline,  255,  293. 

Distant  prospects,  129 ;  from  Mt. 
Washington,  376 ;  of  Franconia 
Mountains,  419. 

Dissipation  not  allied  to  love,  248  ;  to 
be  shunned  by  Thoreau,  367. 

Disunion  and  slavery,  415. 

Do  a  man's  work,  416. 

Dobson,  the  criminal,  and  Henry 
James,  402,  403. 

Doctrine  of  sorrow,  201  ;  of  happi 
ness,  209  ;  of  letting  alone,  214. 

Dogmas,  402. 

Dogs,  107,  247,  257,  262,  278,  298. 

Doing  and  being,  266,  277. 

Doing  good,  255. 

Dollars  and  cents,  194,  205,  251,  373, 
381,  426. 

D'Orsay,  Count,  272. 

Drainage  of  the  city  of  God,  405. 

Dreams,  260. 

Dress,  of  Cholmondeley,  398  ;  of  the 
Quakers,  115,  337;  of  Thoreau, 
272. 

Drilling  soldiers,  307. 

Drosera  (the  plant),  361. 

Du  Chaillu,  442. 

Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  Prince  of 
Wales,  433. 

Duubar,  Rev.  Asa  (H.  U.  1767), 
Thoreau's  grandfather,  6. 

Dunbar  Charles  (uncle  of  Tho 
reau),  3,  126. 

Dunbar,  Louisa,  118. 

Duubar,  Mary  (Jones),  2,  11. 

Duudees,  a  nickname,  15,  17. 

Dunleith,  a  town,  444,  447. 

Durkee,  Dr.,  a  naturalist,  361,  363. 

Dutch  houses,  109. 

Duties,  195,  201,  268,  275. 

Duty,  sense  of,  117,  236. 

Duxbury,  Mass,  353. 

EAGLES,  236. 

Eagle-Beak,  15,  17. 

Eagleswood,  N.  J.,  334-341. 

Earnest  man,  his  force,  "a  beetle, 
a  wedge,  a  catapult."  200. 

Earning  bread,  197.  205,  256  ;  dol 
lars,  127,  251,  282.' 

Earth,  blue  with  berries,  25 ;  in 
winter,  14. 

East  and  West,  41,  114. 

East  Branch  of  Penobscot,  380. 

"  Easter  Brooks  "  (Estabrook),  126. 

Eastern  Mountain  anchored,  376. 

East  Quarter  of  Concord,  21. 


470 


INDEX. 


Echo,  in  nature,  212. 

"  Echoes  of  Harper's  Ferry,"  415. 

Edda,  the  Scandinavian,  144. 

Edith  the  Saxon  (daughter  of  Emer 
son),  134. 

Emerson,  Charles  Chauncy  (H.  U. 
1828),  112. 

Emerson,  Charles  (H.  U.  1863),  27. 

Emerson,  Edith  (Mrs.  W.  H. 
Forbes),  59,  63,  64,  122,  162,  170, 
174,  189. 

Emerson,  Edward  Waldo  (H.  U. 
1866),  162,  170,  174,  183,  189. 

Emerson,  Ellen  Tucker,  59,  62,  135, 
162, 170,  174,  180,  183,  189. 

Emerson,  Haven  (son  of  William), 
92. 

Emerson,  Miss  Mary  Moody  (aunt 
of  R.  W.  E.),  318,401. 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo  (H.  U.  1821), 
vi,  viii,  5,  10,  18,  40,  56,  62,  144, 
150,  158,  181,  186,  188,  220,  229, 
276,  284,  287,  297,  299,  301,  309, 
318, 364, 377, 392, 401, 402,414, 415, 
423,  424;  children  of,  59,  62-64, 
162,  170,  174,  183,  189  ;  and  Al- 
cott,  73,  94,  99,  163,  229,  287,  299, 

319,  364,   377,  402  ;  and    Charles 
Lane,  73, 148, 149  ;  and  the  "  Dial," 
67-74,  89,  92,  99,  111,  135-138, 187  ; 
letters  from,  56,  57,  67,  92,  99,  111, 
122,    124,     143,    148,    170,     186; 
letters  to  (from  Thoreau),  58-67, 
69-75,    92-99,    109-113,    120-122 
127-129,    135-139,    161-186,    189, 
202;    quoted,    24,    137,    276,  285, 
334,  339. 

Emerson,  Mrs.  R.  W.  (Lidian  Jack 
son,  of  Plymouth),  40,  49,  53,  56, 
61,  62,  64,  75,  80,  89,  99,  113,  122, 
128,  162,  182, 188 ;  letter  from,  75, 
76  ;  letters  to,  89-92, 103-106, 133- 
135. 

Emerson,  Madam  Ruth  (mother  of 
William,  Ralph,  and  Charles),  62, 
92,  113. 

Emerson,  Waldo  (son  of  R.  W.  E.) 
24,  25,  40,  48 ;  death  of,  25. 

Emerson,  William  (H.  U.  1818),  of 
Stateu  Island,  58,  98,  117,  124. 

Emersonian  influences,  10,  57. 

Employment,  40,  44,  98,  127,  161, 
190,  205,  338. 

England,  home  of  ancestors,  3 ;  Em 
erson  in,  148-150,  167,  177,  180, 
185, 187;  friend  of  Thoreau  in,  295, 

320,  358,  398,  439-443. 

English  critic  (Heraud),  72 ;  of  Emer 

son,  180. 
English  market,  148,  169. 


English  opinion  of  Whitman,  321, 
348. 

Englishmen,  58,  131,  149,  169,  194, 
283-286,  443. 

Entomology,  107,  360,  361,  363. 

Epics,  137. 

Epigrams  of  Thoreau,  22,  29,  31,  32, 
47, 60,  65,  67,  71,  78, 81,  90,  98,  105, 
110,  112,  141,  179,  188,  193,  196, 
208,  211,  214,  224,  240,  242,  250. 

Epistles  of  Thoreau,  xii ;  Latin  and 
English,  30-36  ;  take  the  place  of 
lectures,  231. 

Errington,  Miss,  a  teacher,  86,  102. 

Estabrook  country  (in  Concord),  169. 

Eternal  life,  193,  197,  209,  233,  271. 

Eternal  powers,  278. 

Eternity,  215,  245,  308. 

Ethnical  Scriptures,  136,  139. 

Etzler  criticised,  121. 

Etymologies,  38,  292. 

Eulogy  on  a  man's  dog,  257. 

Europe,  158. 

Everett,  Edward  (H.  U.  1811),  433. 

Everlasting,  257. 

Evil  spirits,  250,  272. 

Excursions,  in  Concord,  17,  19,  31, 
57,  69,  144,  151,  159,  168,  175,  278, 
289,  297,  309,  316,  331,  360;  else 
where  in  Massachusetts,  230,  235, 
280, 282, 285,  289, 290, 303,311, 329; 
to  Maine,  301, 360, 369,  378-383 ;  to 
Monadnoc,  383,  388,  421,  428-433  ; 
to  New  Hampshire  (White  Moun 
tains),  5,  385-391,  406;  to  New 
York  and  New  Jersey,  80-86,  91- 
94,  97-102,  113-115,  127-131,  220, 
334-341,  345-349  ;  to  the  West  and 
Northwest,  439,  444,  453. 

Expenses,  estimate  of,  150,  205; 
reducing,  205,  219,  264,  310. 

Explorations,  Arctic,  418. 

Extravagance  in  living,  257,  371,  373, 
404. 

Eyes  and  insight,  194. 

Eyrie  in  the  clouds,  258. 

"  FABUL ATE  and  paddle  in  the  social 

slush,"  277. 

Failure  or  success,  226,  271. 
Faineancy,  277. 
Fair  and  beloved,  239,  243  ;  fair  and 

foul,  249-251. 

Fair  cities  of  the  plain,  404. 
Fair  Haven,  in  Concord,  31,  34,  57, 

138,  278. 
Fair  of  Concord  Cattle  Show,  133 ; 

of  American  Institute,  New  York, 

135. 
Faith,  54,  67,  201,  203,  272 ;  phases 


INDEX. 


471 


of,  66,  95,  133,  141,  191,  195,  209, 

214,  258,  270,  292,  439  ;  intrusted, 

66,  67. 

Faithful  catechism,  95,  279. 
Fall  of  the  year,  5,  43,  427. 
Falls  of  Niagara,  100,  297  ;  of  St. 

Anthony,  447,  450. 
Fama  Marcelli,  vi. 
Fame,  vii,  78,  110. 
"  Fame  cannot  tempt  the  bard,"  vii. 
Family  ancestry,  3,  6,  11,  124;  de 
mon  of  sleep,  108, 126. 
Family  occupation,  44,  410. 
Farms  in  Concord,  110, 309  ;  in  Stat- 

en  Island,  102, 113  ;  at  Chappaqua, 

348. 

Fassett,  a  farmer  in  Troy,  N.  H.,  432. 
Fate,  45,  90,  133,  417  ;  the  Fates,  42, 

87,  129,  179. 

Father  Hecker,  a  priest,  145,  146. 
Feebleness  of  mankind,  252. 
Feeding,  198,  211,  260,  262,  303,  330, 

382. 

Feeling,  acute,  40  ;  indifferent,  202. 
Fellowship,  325. 
Feminine  traits,  238,  242. 
Pinch  and  thrush,  88. 
Fire,  31,  34,  264,  344,  434  ;  of  drift 
wood,  317  ;  on  Mt.    Washington, 

391  ;  on  Monadnoc,  429. 
Fire  Island,  220,  223. 
Fitchburg,  Mass.,  342,  354. 
Fitchburg  Railroad  depot  in  Boston, 

401 ;  in  Acton,  423. 
Flagg,  Wilson,  364. 
Flame  and  smoke,  394. 
Flesh  and  bones,  131. 
Flies,  buzzing  of,  276. 
Fog,  305,  384,  389. 
Follen,  Dr.  Charles,  34. 
Foolish  aims,  198 ;  complaints,  236. 
Formulas,  371. 
Fort  Sumter,  437,  438. 
Foxes  and  woodchucks,  67,  202. 
Freedom,  advantages  of,  7,  12,  38; 

for  the  scholar,  205,  210. 
Free-Soilers,  235. 
Fremont,  J.  C.  (explorer  of  Rocky 

Mountains),  418. 
French  translation,  350. 
French  explorers,  393. 
Friend,  office  of  a,  50,  61,  95,  111, 

161. 
Friends,  65,  225,  248  ;  their  uses,  65, 

67  ;  estimate  of,  224. 
Friends  and  followers,  220-470. 
Friendship,    offense  against,  65-67; 

advantages  of,  66,  111,  206,  225, 

244;    and    love,    216,    244,    354; 

verses  on,  44,  364. 


Frost,  Rev.  Barzillai  (H.  U.  1830), 

10,  164. 
Fruitlands    (farm     of    Alcott    and 

Lane),  75,  107,  146,  171,  186. 
Fuller,  Rev.  Arthur  B.  (H.  U.  1843), 

Fuller,  Ellen  (Mrs.  Channing),  49. 
Fuller,  Margaret  (Countess  Ossoli), 

45,  49,  112,  127,  144,  220-223. 
Fuller,  Richard  F.  (H.  U.  1844),  49, 

52,  76-79. 
Funeral  processions,  176. 

GAME  we  play,  359. 

Game,  woodland,  17,  391,  393. 

Ganges,  316. 

Garden,  Paradise  not  a,  195. 

Gardens,  Emerson's,  40, 91, 161, 179 ; 

Thoreau's,  102,  427. 
Garrison,  W.  L.,302. 
Genius  of  the  mountain,  429  ;  of  the 

storm,  430. 
Gifts,  24. 

Gilpin,  William,  288;  his  books,  312. 
God,  191,  192,  196,  209,   214,   226, 

306. 
God,  ask  to  see,  197  ;  city  of,  197, 

268 ;  not  an  ash-man,  294  ;  reigns, 

214,  371. 

Godsend  of  books,  319. 
Goethe,  mentioned,  73,202,  352  ;  his 

autobiography,  352. 
Golconda  mentioned,  329. 
Good  deeds,  206. 
Good  and  wise  (verse),  177. 
Goodwin,  Prof.  William  Watson  (H. 

U.  1851),  123. 
Gorilla,  442. 

Goshawk,  American,  227. 
Government   of   the  country,   185, 

415,  438. 

Grange  Bluff,  Minn.,  446. 
Great  Quitticus,  313. 
Great  Spirit,  14,  18. 
Greek,  study  of,  69,  123. 
Greeley,  Farmer,  340. 
Greeley,  Horace,  80,  115,  120,  123, 

190,  203-206,  340,  348. 
Green,  Calvin  H.,  454. 
Grey,  Mrs.,  97. 
Grief,  cause  of,  47,  55,  88,  105,  141, 

201  ;  remedy  for,  47,  50,  55. 
Grimke"  sisters,  334,  337. 
Gulf  Stream,  322. 
Gun-house,  178. 
Gunnar  (Norse  hero),  441. 
Gurnet,  the  (in  Plymouth  Bay),  353, 

HABITS,  ill,  remedy  for,  178,  251. 
Habits  of  men,  272,  273. 


472 


INDEX. 


Hale,  Rev.  Edward  Everett  (H.  U. 
1839),  357. 

Hale,  Nathan  (H.  U.  1838),  99. 

Hamlet,  Fechter's,  493. 

Hall,  Leyden,  at  Plymouth,  229  ;  Ma 
sonic,  at  Concord,  4  ;  Music,  Bos 
ton,  414. 

Hard  money,  373. 

Hard  times,  371,  372. 

Harlem,  N.  Y.,  341,  348. 

Harper  &  Brothers,  publishers,  125. 

Harrison  and  Tyler,  431. 

Harris,  W.  T.,  338. 

Harvard  College,  2, 10,  76,  123,  165, 
286,  299. 

Harvard,  a  town,  52,  330. 

Hasty,  Captain,  221. 

Hate,  243  ;  and  love,  111,  240. 

Hawthorne,  Nathaniel,  vi,  49,  59, 
110,  128,  143,  420. 

Hawthorne,  Sophia,  51. 

Haydon  (English  painter),  269,  352. 

Head  of  the  River,  New  Bedford, 
388,  395. 

Headley,  Henry,  77. 

Hearts,  145,  241,  242,  344. 

Heathen,  59. 

Heathenish,  230,  253. 

Heaven,  103,  196,  215,  236,  265  ;  ad 
mission  to,  197,  265,  268. 

Hecker,  Isaac,  145,  146. 

Hens,  43,  74,  323. 

Heraud,  John  A.  (English  critic),  72. 

Herbert,  George,  134,  436. 

Hercules,  272,  400. 

Hermitage,  Walden,  185. 

Hermit-life,  162,  190. 

Heron  Lake,  Maine,  382. 

Hesperides,  256. 

Hester  Street  meeting,  115. 

Higginson,  Thomas  Wentworth  (H. 
U.  1841),  227,  228,  307,  378-383. 

Highland  Light,  Cape  Cod,  303. 

Hindoos,  105,  321,  347,  351. 

History  of  New  Bedford,  394,  396. 

Hoar  family,  15,  377. 

Hoar,  Ebenezer  Rockwood  (H.  U. 
1835),  15,  89,  92,  457. 

Hoar,  Edward  Sherman  (H.  U. 
1844),  89,  366,  385,  387,  389-392. 

Hoar,  Elizabeth,  59,  89,  110,  138  ; 
letter  from,  138,  139. 

Hoar,  George  Frisbie  (H.  U.  1846), 
15,  119. 

Hoar,  Samuel  (H.  U.  1802),  15,  408. 

Hoboken,  N.  Y.,  130. 

Hodnet,  England,  284, 285,  295,  321. 

Hog,  the,  268,  363. 

Home,  vii,  25,  58,  74  ;  affection  of 
Thoreau  for,  118,  310. 


Homer,  110,237,288,341. 
Hoiitan,  French  explorer,  450. 
Hood's  "  Song  of  the  Shirt,"  267- 

270. 

Hope,  22. 
Hopeful,  Sachem  (John  Thoreau), 

14,40. 

Horace  quoted,  31,  34. 
Horses  (playthings),  162,  170,   183, 

320,  345,  376,  385,  386,  389,  395. 
Horse-race,  335,  342. 
Hosmer,    Edmund   (the     "  farmer- 
man"),  110,  164, 185,  309,  314, 320. 
Hotham,  Edmund  Stuart,    69. 
Hottentots,  and  Ruskin,  374. 
House,  Alcott's,  380. 
Houses  lived  in  by  Thoreau,  2-5,  27, 

68, 153,  169, 171, 172,  178-180,  429, 

432. 
Household  of  Emerson,  40,  49,  58, 

62,  75,  162,  170,  176,  182,  189. 
Households    of    the    Dunbars    and 

Thoreaus,  2-5,  27,  30-37,  118,  124- 

126,  408. 
Howitt,  William  and  Mary,  99,  283, 

304. 
Hudson,  Rev.  Henry  N.,  described, 

174. 

Hudson  River,  82,  130,  453. 
Human  nature,  8,  42,  54,    114,  131, 

193,  196,  200,  216,  236,  244,  251, 

257,  260. 

Humor,  Thoreau's  sense  of,  ix,  xii. 
Hungry,  eat  when  you  are,  224. 
Hunt  family,  126,  309  ;  farmhouse, 

309. 
Hut  in  the  woods,  68,  150,  202. 

ICE,  247,  255,  297,  322. 

Iceberg,  390. 

Idle  hours,  19,  54,  251,  301,  302,315. 

Idolatry  of  money,  194, 373,  387. 

"  I  have  heard  no  bad  news,"  196  ; 

"  I  '11  be  I,"  99  ;    "I  in  my  folly 

am  the  world  I  condemn,"   254  ; 
"I  laugh  when  I  think  of  my 

riches,"  344. 
Imagination,  29,  374. 
Immigrants,    114;   Norwegian,  130. 
Immortality,  233,  271. 
Independence  of  scholars,  205,  253, 

260. 
India,  321 ;  books  concerning,  319- 

321 ;  sacred  books  of,  351. 
India-rubber  bags,  383. 
Indian  guide  (Joe   Polis),  339,  38(K 

382,  391. 

Indian  life,  369,  370. 
Indians,  remarks  on,  362,  369,  391. 
Indian  summer,  43,  395. 


INDEX. 


473 


Indies,  West,  397,  415. 

Insane,  census  of  the,  293. 

"  Infinite  work  my  hands  find  here 

to  do,"  xi. 
Inkstand,  130. 
Injustice,  275. 
Innkeeper's    reply   (J.    Holbrook), 

392. 
Intercourse  with  Nature  (Agassiz), 

155. 

Ireland,  Alexander,  186,  189. 
Irishmen,  138,  179. 
Islands  :    Clark's,  353, 3G4  ;    Staten, 

x,  76,  80,  140. 

JACKSON,  Dr.  Charles  Thomas  (H. 

U.  1829),  40,  173. 
Jackson,  Miss  Lidian   (Mrs.  R.  W. 

Emerson).     See  Emerson. 
Jackson,  Miss  Lucy  (Mrs.  Brown), 

40,  49,  56-7,  122,  134,  162,  364  ; 

letters  to,  40-56. 
Jacobean  poetry,  77. 
Jaffrey,  N.  H.,  384. 
Jail  in  Concord,  60. 
Jam  Cytherea  choros,  etc.,  32. 
James  Henry,  Sr. ,  meets  Thoreau, 

80,  95;  mentioned,  100,  120;  his 

sons,  123,  145,  402,  403. 
Japan,  252. 

Jarvis,  Dr.  Edward  (H.  U.  1826),  23. 
Jaundice,  141,  182. 
Jersey,  Thoreau's  grandfather  born 

in,  3. 

Johnson,  Dr.,  mentioned,  162. 
Jones  family,  11,  108,  124. 
Judaea,  215,  235. 
Judge  and  criminal,  274,  275. 

KALENDAS  Feb.,  30. 
Kane,  Dr.  E.  K.,  418. 
Kansas,  180,  206. 
Kentucky,  23. 
Kineo,  Mt.,  381. 
Kirby  and  Spence,  361. 
Kirkland,  Mrs.  Caroline,  337. 
Knots  of  the  Alcott  arbor,  163. 
Ktaadn,  158,  307,  370. 

LABOR,  uses  of,   74,  138,  205,  267; 

results  of,  199,  205.  219,  267. 
Labrador  tea,  363. 
Labyrinth  of  life,  208. 
Ladies  studying  philosophy,  28. 
"Lady's  Companion,"  a  magazine, 

128,  129. 
Lamentations,  47-49,  216,  257,  272, 

276. 

Lampreys,  152. 
Lampyris  noctiluca,  361-363. 


Land  and  water,  x,  15,  81,  98,  316, 

317,  353. 

Lane,  Charles   (English   reformer), 
60,   68,   75,  107,  124,  149;  writes 
for  the  "  Dial,"  69-71,  73,  74. 
Lar,  79. 

Latin  grammars,  27  ;  epistle,  30-33  ; 
pronunciation,  28  ;  writers  men 
tioned  or  quoted,  vi,  x,  30,  32. 
Laws,  beautiful,  213  ;  eternal,  208. 
Lectures  by  Thoreau,   4,  173,  180, 
185,  227-231,  280,  281,   289,   298, 
326,  338,  355,  406. 
Lecturing,  results  of,  298,  354. 
Ledum  (Labrador  tea),  363. 
Lee's  Hill,  15,  alias  Nashawtuc  or 

Naushawtuck,  16,  30,  33. 
Lee^vites,  a  nickname,  15. 
Letters  : 

From  Louis  Agassiz,  154. 
From  A.  B.  Alcott,  460 ;  to  him, 

332. 
From  H.  G.  O.  Blake,  190, 191 ;  to 

him,  192,  197,  208,  209,  213,  216, 

223,  234,  237,  251,  261,  266,  271, 

275,  291,  301,  303,  305,  316,  326, 

329,  339,  341,  354,  357,  359,  368, 

385,  399,  405,  409,  413,  415,  421, 

428,  443. 
From  Myron  B.  Benton,  461 ;  to 

him,  463. 
To  Mrs.  Lucy  Cotton  Brown,  40, 

43,  45,  49,  53. 
From  J.  E.   Cabot,  155  ;  to  him, 

150,  153, 186. 

From  Ellery  Channing,  144,  321. 
From  Thomas  Cholmondeley,  440  ; 

to  him,  295. 
From  R.  W.  Emerson,  57,  67,  92, 

99,  111,  122,  124,  143,  148,  170, 

186 ;  to  him,  58,  62,  69,  73,  92, 

95,  109,  120,  127,  135,  161,  170, 

173,  177,  181,  189,  220. 
From  Mrs.  R.  W.  Emerson,  75; 

to  her,  89,  103,  133. 
To  T.  W.  Higginson,  227,  379. 
From  Miss  Elizabeth  Hoar,  138. 
To  Parker  Pillsbury,  437. 
From  James  Richardson,  10. 
From   Daniel  Ricketson,  286 ;  to 

him,  287,  288,  309,  311,  314,  319, 

322,  324,  356,  364,  367,  393,  396, 

407,  425,  434. 

To  F.  B.  Sanborn,  300,  447. 
To  Cynthia  Thoreau,  80,  100,  106, 

117,  124,  129. 
To  Helen  Thoreau,  12,  27,  30,  37, 

87,  113,  140. 
From  Henry  Thoreau,  12,  14,  20, 

21,  25,  27,  30,  37,  40,  43,  45,  47, 


474 


INDEX. 


49,  52,  53,  58,  62,  69,  73,  77,  80, 
84,  87,  89,  92,  95,  100,  103,  106, 
109,  113,  117,  120,  124,  127,  129, 
133,  135,  140,  150,  153,  158,  161,  i 
170,  173,  177,  181,  186,  189,  192, 
197,  204,  208,  209,  213,  216,  220, 
223,  227,  229,  230,  232,  234,  237, 
251,  261,  266,  271,  275,  280,  281, 
282,  288,  289,  291,  295,  300,  301, 
303,  305,  309,  311,  314,  316,  319, 
322,  324,  326,  329,  332,  335,  339, 
341,  349,  352,  354,  356,  357,  359, 
360,  362,  364,  367,  368,  371,  379, 
385,  387,  393,  396,  399,  405,  407, 
409,  413,  415,  419,  421,  425,  428, 
434,  437,  443,  445,  455,  463. 
To  John  Thoreau,  Jr. ,  14, 20, 21, 25. 
To  Sophia  Thoreau,  36,  84,  158, 

232,  335,  419. 
From  B.  M.  Watson,  229,  364  ;  to 

him,  229,  230,  360,  362. 
To  B.  B.  Wiley,  349,  352. 
Leuciscus     (argenteus.   pulchellus, 

etc.),  152,  157. 

Libraries,  at  Cambridge,  299,  300; 
at  Concord,   319 ;   at  New  York, 
96,  127,  130,  136,  145. 
Life,   emptiness    of    ordinary,   194, 
216,   252,   257,  277;  eternal,  193, 
197,   209,   233,  271;  facts  of,  51, 
195,  255 ;  labyrinth  of,  208  ;  perils 
of,  175 ;  phenomena  of,  x,  xi,  46, 
54,   239,   245,  260,   267,  273,  317, 
363  ;   qualifications  for  practical, 
6,  11,  39,  69,  161,  205. 
Lincoln,  Abraham,  334,  437,  439. 
Lincoln,  the  town,  363. " 
Linnaeus,  250. 

Literature,  31,  35,  50,  77,  80,  112, 
125,  127,  134,  136,  180,  183,  195, 
205,  207,  312,  319,  346,  352,  353, 
441. 

Lockwood  (F.  J.  Merriam),  423,  424. 
Locust,  the  seventeen-year,  106, 107. 
Log  of  driftwood,  318. 
London,   mentioned,   163,  187,  398, 

418. 

Longfellow,  H.  W.,  120,  298,  401. 
Long  Pond,  313. 
Long  River  (La  Riviere  Longue), 

French  for  the  Minnesota,  451. 
Lost  dove,  horse  and  hound,  353. 
Louisa,  Aunt  (Dunbar),  118. 
Love,  charms  of,  239,  241,  245,  247, 
250;    corrupted,    240,    248,   250; 
potency  of,   242,   245;  and  mar 
riage,  238-251,  353. 
Love  of  nature,  1,  42,  75,  278,  326. 
Lowell,  James  Russell  (H.  U.  1838), 
71,  298,  401,  458. 


Lowell,  Mrs.  (a  cousin),  26. 

Lowell,  the  city,  152. 

Lucretius,  quoted,  x. 

Lyceum,  of  Concord,  4,  56,  60,  61, 
72,  138,  173,  180,  185,  189,  323 ;  at 
Salem,  230  ;  at  Worcester,  355. 

"Lying  out-doors,"  432. 

Lymau,  Benjamin  Smith  (H.  U. 
1855),  300. 

Lyttelton,  Lord,  443. 

MACAULAY,  Rev.  Zachary,  321. 

Mackerel,  276. 

Mackinaw,  445. 

Madawaska,  379-382. 

McKean,  Henry  Swasey  (H.  U.  1828), 
130,  136,  145. 

Magazines :  Atlantic,  284,  444 ; 
Democratic  Review,  59,  127-129, 
132,  140  ;  Dial,  see  "  Dial  "  ;  Har 
vard,  299,  300,  353;  Putnam's, 
260,  342,  343. 

Mahabharat,  351. 

Maiden  in  the  East,  364. 

Maine,  4,  158,  173,  368. 

Maine  lumberer,  447. 

Maine  woods,  301,  362,  378,  380-382, 
391. 

Male  and  female,  238,  249. 

Mallet  for  flints,  20. 

Man,  12,  35,  42 ;  his  activity,  201, 
209,  257  ;  his  bread,  198  ;  his  duty, 
201,  224  ;  his  education.  214,  267  ; 
his  freedom,  210,  226,'  236;  his 
generation,  250  ;  his  immortality, 
306,  344  ;  his  meanness,  215,  272. 

Mankind,  8,  35,  95,  162. 

Mann,  Horace,  Jr.,  445,  454. 

Manse,  the  Old,  49,  59. 

Maple  sugar,  327. 

Maps,  383,  390. 

Maria,  Aunt  (Thoreau),  141. 

Mark-Lane  Gazette,  148. 

Market-carts,  xi. 

Marlborough  Chapel,  Boston,  154. 

Marriage,  166,  240,  246,  249-251, 
353. 

Marston,  John,  of  Taunton,  23. 

Marston- Watson,  Benjamin  (H.  U. 
1839),  49.  See  Watson. 

Massachusetts,  446. 

Massachusetts  Election,  17,  19,  168. 

Massachusetts  Quarterly  Review, 
172,  173. 

May,  Rev.  Joseph  (H.  U.  1857),  451. 

May,  Rev.  Samuel  Joseph  (H.  U. 
1818),  451. 

Meadows,  of  Concord,  109,  297,  389  ; 
birds  in  the,  14,  42 ;  cranberries 
in,  245. 


INDEX. 


475 


Mean  aspects  of  life,  82,  93,  97,  276. 

Meanness  complained  of,  104,  208, 
211,224. 

Meat  and  drink,  198,  199. 

Medicine  (Indian  term),  1G-18. 

Medicine,  Yellow  (a  river),  452. 

Mediterranean  shore,  359. 

Meeting-houses,  235,  392, 414 ;  meet 
ing-house  cellar,  377. 

Melancholy,  47,  219,  252. 

Melodies,  24,  50. 

Melodious  fringilla,  26. 

Melons,  viii. 

Memorial  Verses,  by  Channing,  76. 

Memories  of  former  life,  215,  253. 

Memory,  29,  48,  110,  126. 

Men  in  crowds,  93,  98. 

Men  of  God,  257. 

Mending,  129,  419. 

Mental  philosophy.  28,  29. 

Mercantile  Library,  130,  145. 

Merchant  (Thoreau's  father),  3, 
409. 

Mercury  (of  New  Bedford),  314,  394, 
396  ;  prints  Ricketson's  History, 
394. 

Merit  and  demerit,  104,  116,  174, 
194. 

Merlin  (a  hawk),  273. 

Merriam,  Francis  Jackson,  a  fugi 
tive,  422-424. 

Merrimack,  the  river,  5  ;  "  Week  on 
the,"  1G6,  187,  219,  299,  321,  349, 
392,  437,  462. 

Message,  the  President's,  438. 

Methods  of  action,  8,  37,  54,  65,  78, 
105,  128,  141. 

Mice  sent  to  Agassiz,  153,  157. 

Michigan,  454. 

Micrometer,  164. 

Microscope,  417. 

Mill-dam,  316;  of  the  Thoreaus  at 
Acton,  410. 

Mill's  "  British  India,"  321. 

"  Million  men  of  no  importance  com 
pared  with  one  man,"  98. 

Milton,  324. 

Milton,  the  town,  208,  263,  264. 

Minnesota,  Indians  of,  451,  452  ;  riv 
ers  of,  447-451 ;  trip  to,  299,  439, 
444,  446. 

Minnows,  152,  157. 

Minott,  George  (Concord  rustic), 
GO,  108,  110,  126. 

Mirror  (New  York  weekly),  127, 
132. 

Misanthropy,  not  a  trait  of  Thoreau, 
xii,  287. 

Miscellany,  Boston,  99,  122. 

Mississippi  River,  444,  447,  450. 


Mist,  321. 

Mizzling  of  sixpences,  98. 

Mob  in  New  York,  93,  130. 

Modern  commercial  spirit,  7-9. 

"  Modern  Painters,"  374. 

Moles,  157,  232. 

Monadnoc,  383-385,  421,  428-433. 

Money,   idolatry  of,  194,  373,  387; 

hard,  373. 

Month,  work  for,  378. 
Monthly.     See  Magazines. 
Monument,  Concord,  26. 
Moose,  335,  362,  382,  391,  393. 
Moosehead  Lake,  376,  380. 
Morals,  247,  254,  207,  293,  345. 
Morton,  Edwin    (H.  U.  1855),  299, 

353,  440. 

Mott,  Mrs.  Lucretia,  115. 
Mountains,  235,  258,  370,  374,  379, 

383,   385,   389-391,   403,  415,  419, 

428,  429. 
Mountains,  White,  5,  375,  385,  387, 

389,  404,  406,  430. 

Mount  Washington,  375,  376,  390. 

Muddy  tortoise,  153. 

Mud  Pond,  382. 

Mud-puddle,  the  sun  in  a,  292. 

Munroe,  James,  publisher,  71,  149, 

219,  388. 

Muses,  the,  51,  214. 
Museum,  British,  442. 
Music,  47,  49,  51-53,   88,  232,  278, 

311. 
Musketaquid    (Concord),     14;   the 

river,  70,  305. 
Muskrat's  house,  266. 
Muttering  thunder,  70. 
Myself  and  Yourself,  259,  417. 
Mystics,  180. 

NEPTUNE,  the  god,  31  ;  the  planet, 

165. 

Nests,  74,  193. 
Neversink,  N.  J.,  82,  310. 
New  Bedford,  283-289,  305,  307,  311, 

314,  320,  324,  367,  388,  396,  397, 

409,  414,  435. 
Newcomb,  Charles,  350. 
New  England,  222,  321. 
New  Hampshire,  300,  384,  386,  389, 

390,  392,  419, 420,  422. 
New  Jersey,  82,  333-339. 

"  New  Orleans  Crescent "  and  Whit 
man,  341. 

News,  216. 

Newspapers  denounced,  211,  216, 
224. 

New  Testament,  164. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  163. 

New  World  (America),  268. 


476 


INDEX. 


"New  World  "  (the  newspaper),  128. 

New  York,  19,  40,  58,  61,  72,  79,  82, 
85,  93,  94,  95,  98-103,  107,  112, 
120,  127,  130,  140.  144,  333,  335, 
341,  346,  348,  437. 

New  Zealand,  284,  303,  440,  443. 

Niagara,  100,  444. 

Night  on  the  mountain,  432  ;  on  the 
river,  278. 

Noah's  dove,  56. 

Noble  writing,  112. 

Nobscot  (a  hill),  330. 

Norwegian  immigrants,  130,  131. 

Notes  from  the  Journal  of  a 
Scholar  (Charles  Emerson),  112. 

Nova  Scotia,  393. 

Nucleus  of  a  comet  is  almost  a  star, 
208. 

Nuptials,  of  plants,  249  ;  of  man 
kind,  246. 

Nurture  of  the  soul,  198,  210. 

Nuts,  1,  260,  352. 

OBJECTS  of  nature,  9,  42,  84,  88,  98, 

103,  111,  168. 
Ocean,  its   phenomena,   x,  82,  159, 

305,  353,  412. 

Ode  to  Beauty,  Emerson's,  137-139. 
Ohio,  23,  334. 
Olympia,  64. 
Olympus,  59,  111. 
Opera,  260,  378. 
Oracles  of  Quarles,  134. 
Orchard  House,  388. 
Oriel  College,  Oxford,  284,  398. 
"  Origin  of  Species,"  Darwin's,  442. 
Osprey,  53. 
Ossa  and  Pelion,  265. 
Ossoli,  Margaret  Fuller,  220-223. 
Ossoli,  Marquis  of,  221-223. 
O'Sullivan,  59,  122,  128. 
Owls,  90,  184. 

PACIFIC  OCEAN,  284. 

Packs,  of  tourists,  390,  391,  428. 

Paddling,  317,  382. 

Painted  cup  (a  flower),  84. 

Pale-face,  14-17. 

Palmer,  Edward,  97,  115. 

Palmer,  Joseph,  at  Fruitlands,  177, 

186. 

Palmerston  mentioned,  211. 
Pan,  and  Whitman,  349. 
Pandora's  box,  22. 
Paradise,  9,  132,  195. 
Parcae,  the,  179. 
Parker  House,  400,  401. 
Parker,  Theodore,  61,  286,  398,  410, 

413. 
Parkman,  Deacon,  of  Concord,  5. 


Parkman,  Francis,  5. 

Parkmau  House,  4. 

Parlor  lecture,  231,  409. 

Partheanna,  64. 

Parthian  army,  184. 

Partridge-berries,  235. 

Partridges,  70. 

Pascal  and  Henry  James,  145. 

"  Past  and  Present,"  95,  120. 

Patmore,  his  "  Angel  in  the  House," 

329. 
Peabody  (a  classmate  of  Thoreau), 

26. 
Peabody,   Miss    Elizabeth    Palmer, 

72,  335. 

Peabody  River,  290. 
Peace,  lecture  on,  60  ;  remarks  on, 

169,  296. 
Pedestrian  tours,  127,  210,  235,  285, 

359. 

Peddler,  Thoreau  taken  for,  290. 
Pehlvi,  dialect,  63. 
Pekin,  105. 
Pellico,  Silvio,  61. 
Pencil-making,  5,  194,  210,  219,  410. 
Penna,  how  pronounced.  28. 
Pennsylvania,  115,  281,  326. 
Penobscot,  160,  362,  381,  392. 
Pepiu,  Lake,  446. 
Persius,  5,  190. 
Phalansteries,  115. 
Phar-ra-oh  (noise  of  locusts),  107. 
Phenomenal  and  real,  67,  105,  175, 

376,  404. 

Philanthropic  dogmas,  402. 
Philanthropists,  140,  231,  255,  334. 
Phillips,  Wendell  (H.  U.  1830),  302, 

460. 
Philosophers,  11,  29,  60,  75,  76,  184, 

350,  351. 

"Philosopher's  Scales,"  137. 
Philosophy,  mental,  28, 29 ;  Oriental, 

136,   319,   347,   351 ;    Stoical,   ix ; 

the  Transcendental,  95,  192. 
Phcebus  Apollo,  51. 
Phosphorescence,  360,  361. 
Pierce,  President  Franklin,  232,  254, 

297. 

Piety,  42,  48,  105. 
Pickerel,  151,  153,  157. 
Picturesque,  the  (Gilpin),  288,  312. 
Pilgrims,  Canterbury,  443. 
"  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  436. 
Pillsbury,  Parker,  (the  abolitionist), 

437-439. 

Pindar,  translation,  121. 
Pipes  for  smoking,  215,  394,  395  ;  of 

the  throat,  435. 
Piracy,  185. 
Pismire  and  his  hillock,  262. 


INDEX. 


477 


Plato,  180. 

Plymouth  Church,  348. 

Plymouth,  Mass.,  40,  49,  228,  231, 
280-282,  287,  353,  364,  440. 

Poems  of  Charming,  76,  94, 137,  139, 
185,  325,  387,  421 ;  of  Emerson, 
137,  321,  432;  of  Herbert,  134, 
436 ;  of  Quarles,  128,  134 ;  of 
Ricketson,  394  ;  of  Sanborn,  463  ; 
of  Thoreau,  vii,  x,  44,  56,  70,  87, 
88,  177,  243,  244,  321,  364;  of 
Whitman,  345. 

Poet-naturalist,  1,  76. 

Poetry,  English,  77,  134,  136,  183, 
283,  306,  323-325 ;  Greek,  70,  119  ; 
of  the  "  Dial,"  44,  70,  137,  147. 

Poets,  x,  31,  110,  136. 

Polaris,  418. 

Pole,  stirring  up  with,  365. 

Polis,  Joe  (Indian),  339,  362,  379, 
391. 

Polygamy,  353. 

Pomotis,  a  fish,  157. 

Pond,  Fairhaven,  31,  278;  Long, 
313  ;  Walden,  31,  34,  68,  145,  149, 
153,  158  ;  White,  15. 

Pots  of  beer,  393. 

Pots  of  poor  immigrants,  131. 

Pouts,  fish,  151,  153. 

Poverty,  205,  208,  355. 

Powers  above  us,  48,  54,  66, 191,  209, 
214,  254. 

Practice  of  conformity,  252  ;  of  fru 
gality,  205;  of  manual  labor,  74, 
205,  219  ;  of  retirement,  191,  210. 

Preaching,  231,  256. 

Preexistence,  215,  223  ;  recollections 
of,  253,  353. 

Precipice  for  suicides,  178. 

"  Present "  (the  periodical),  133, 140, 
141. 

President's  messages,  438. 

Pretenses  of  society,  213,  274. 

Probe  the  earth,  194. 

Professor,  the  traveling  (Agassiz),  j 
176. 

Pronunciation  of  Latin,  28,  29. 
Prince  of  Wales  in  New    England, 
433. 

QITAINTNESS  of  expression,   28,   59,  j 

131,  134,  160,  172,  175,  184,  196,  j 

216,  224. 
Quaker  dress,  115;  meetings,   116,  I 

336,  395. 
Quakers  at  Eagleswood,   336,  337  ; 

at    New   Bedford,    395,    456;    at 

New  York,  115. 
Quarantine  Village,  N.  Y.,  85. 
Quarles,  Francis,  128,  134. 


Quarterly  of  the  Transcendentalists, 
143 ;  its  fame  in  England,  187. 

Quarters  of  Concord,  2,  15. 

Quebec,  379. 

Querulity  of  reformers,  141. 

Query  by  Thoreau,  64  ;  another,  185. 

Questioning  to  be  avoided,  242,  325, 
425. 

Questions  of  friendship,  38,  41,  65- 
67, 104,  206,  308,  425  ;  of  love,  238- 
245  ;  of  life,  31,  38,  47,  51,  55,  90, 
125,  141,  145,  162,  175,  191,  193, 
200,  208,  214,  225,  236,  253,  255- 
258,  262,  267-269,  292,  333,  370, 
439  ;  of  literature,  32,  35,  44,  50, 
71,  112,  127,  183,  188,  195,  203, 
207,  287,  321  ;  of  society,  12,  58, 
74,  93,  131,  196,  225,  246,  254-256, 
273-275,  350,  371,  400. 

Quincy,  Josiah  (H.  U.  1790),  Pres 
ident  of  Harvard  University,  10. 

Quitticus,  in  Middleborough,  313. 

Quotations,  from  Channing,  68,  77, 
382,  384,  392,  422,  425 ;  Confucius, 

350,  351  ;  Daniel,  264 ;    Emerson, 

II,  24,  57,  111,  122,  140,  143,  170, 
187,  276,  339 ;  Goethe,  202 ;  Hor 
ace,  vi,  31 ;  Lucretius,  x ;  Milton, 

III,  324;   Shakespeare,  vi;  Tho 
reau,  x,  87  ;  Virgil,  32. 

RACE,   the  aboriginal,  14,  339,  370, 

452. 
Race  characteristics,   179,  268,  276, 

343. 

Ramsay,  Gov.,  of  Minnesota,  451. 
Rapping  of  spirits,  233. 
Ravine,  Tuckerman's,  389,  404,  406. 
Reading,  31,  35,  77,  134,  136,   183, 

351,  352,  438,  441,  442. 
Rebellion,  Southern,  437,  446. 

"  Recline  on  the  Great  Spirit,"  213. 
Recluse  habits,  19,  42,  69,  93,  145, 

191,  205,  235,  287,  299,  314,  364. 
Recollections  of  early  life,  x,  2-5, 

19. 

Regret,  47,  49,  51,  87,  88. 
Religion,  9,  105,  118,  136,  191,  197, 

230,  235,  257,  293,  348,  456. 
Religious  life,  192,  215. 
Respectability,  93. 
Restigouche,  in  Canada,  380. 
Review,   the    Democratic,   59,  119, 

121,  129,  140. 

"  Review,      Massachusetts      Quar 
terly,"' 172,  188. 
Review  of  Carlyle  by  Emerson,  112, 

120  ;  of  Emerson,  in  Blackwood, 

188. 
"  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,"  188. 


478 


INDEX. 


Richardson,  Rev.  James  (H.  U. 
1837),  10. 

Riches,  Thoreau's  vague,  indefinite, 
344. 

Ricketson,  Daniel,  described,  283, 
306  ;  letters  from,  286  ;  letters  to, 
287,  288,  309,  311,  314,  319,  322, 
324,  356,  364,  367,  393,  396,  407, 
425, 434,  455,  459,  460  ;  mentioned, 
286,  289,  309,  358,  398,  414,  441  ; 
conversion  of,  456. 

Ricketson,  Walton,  sculptor,  xii, 
311. 

Ridicule  of  Alcott,  163, 184 ;  of  man 
kind,  277,  373  ;  of  table-tippers, 
233. 

Ripley,  Rev.  Ezra,  D.  D.  (H.  U. 
1776),  3. 

Rivers :  the  Alpheus,  109  ;  Assabet, 
vii;  Chaudiere,  379;  Concord,  2, 
88,  109,  150-153,  278,  305,  316, 
331,  333,  358;  Hudson,  120; 
Long,  451  ;  Loup,  379  ;  Mincius, 
109;  Minnesota,  448,  449;  Mis 
sissippi,  447,  452  ;  Peabody,  390 ; 
Penobscot,  380, 381,  392  ;  St.  John, 
380;  St.  Lawrence,  379;  Shaw- 
sheen,  vii ;  Yellow  Medicine,  452. 

River,  Head  of  the,  at  New  Bedford, 
395. 

Riviere  du  Loup,  379 ;  Longue, 
451,  452. 

Roach,  the  fish,  152. 

Roads  traveled  by  Thoreau,  3,  5, 
52,  85,  102,  168,  379,  384. 

Roberts  Brothers,  mentioned,  76. 

Robin  Hood,  mentioned,  111. 

Rodman,  Mr.,  of  New  Bedford,  457. 

Romans,  79,  184. 

Rome,  79. 

Roxbury,  Mass.,  mentioned,  25,  27, 
30,  37. 

Rubber  coat,  etc.,  382,  383. 

Rural  life,  43,  79,  119,  138,  144,  161, 
168,  205,  210. 

Rynders,  mentioned,  145. 

SABATTIA  CHLOROIDES,  313. 
Sabbath-keeping,  118,  229,  235,  392. 
Sachem  Tahatawan   (of   Concord), 

14,  19. 

Sacred  books,  136,  350,  351. 
Sadness,  47,  50,  54,  88,  105,  460. 
Saint,  a  fair,  135. 
Saint  John,  the  River,  380. 
Saint  Lawrence,  379. 
Salem,  Mass.,  mentioned,  230. 
Salop  (Shropshire),  295,  443. 
Sam,  a  cat,  33,  36. 
Sanborn,    Franklin  Benjamin     (H. 


U.  1855),  letters  to,  68,  69,  300, 
446-453  ;  his  Life  of  Thoreau, 
cited,  23,  107,  185,  299;  his  Me 
moir  of  Alcott  cited,  72,  285,  401  ; 
mentioned,  299,  336,  420,  422,  436, 
441,  463  ;  his  school,  300,  377  ;  his 
version  of  Thoreau's  Latin,  33-36. 

Sandy  Hook,  near  New  York,  82,  85, 
98. 

Sane  and  insane,  293. 

Sap  of  the  sugar-maple,  327-329. 

Saratoga  mentioned,  276. 

Sanscrit  books,  319,  321,  351. 

Sarah,  Aunt  (Dunbar),  3. 

Sargent,  John  Turner  (H.  U.  1827), 
229. 

Savings  Bank,  Boston,  186. 

Saturday  evening  dance,  336. 

Saturn,  159. 

Scholars,  their  complaints,  205,  254, 
276,  306 ;  their  duties,  116,  206 ; 
their  qualities,  116,  123,  174,  210, 
310,  330. 

Schools  :  of  Thoreau,  4,  25-27 ;  of 
Lane,  149  ;  of  Sanborn, 300,  377. 

Schools  of  Concord,  436. 

Science,  232,  330. 

Scott,  Sir  Walter,  136. 

Scurvy  life,  216. 

Sea  and  land,  x,  15,  81,  93,  98,  221, 
302-304,  353. 

Seashore  verses,  x  ;  walks,  363,  366, 
412. 

Sebago  Lake,  Me.,  44. 

Seeming  and  being,  50,  104,  193, 
258,  262,  274,  376. 

Sensuality,  245,  260,  346. 

Serenity  and  cheerfulness,  46,  48, 
115,  328,  459. 

Seven  against  Thebes,  121. 

Seventeen-year  locust,  106. 

Sewing  Circle  in  Concord,  32,  36. 

Sex  and  marriage,  238,  240,  245, 
249. 

Shabbiness  of  Emerson's  life,  276 ; 
of  Thoreau,  224. 

Shackford,  Rev.  Charles  Chauncy 
(H.  U.  1835),  229. 

Shakers,  135,  246. 

Shakespeare  mentioned,  ix,  50, 237. 

Shame,  200,  238,  250,  345. 

Shanty,  of  Thoreau,  68 ;  of  Ricket 
son,  286,  311,  322. 

Shawmut  (Boston),  17. 

Shawsheen  (river),  vii. 

Shiner,  a  fish,  152-157. 

Shropshire,  Eng.,  283-285,  295.  298, 
439,  443. 

Simplicity,  194,  256,  350. 

Skating,  297,  405. 


INDEX. 


479 


Skipper,  of  Staten  Island,  102  ;  Tho- 

reau  as,  3GO. 

Silence  and  speech,  63,  188,  277. 
Silence  of  the  pine  wood,  425. 
Sincerity,  a  rare  virtue,  306. 
Slavery,  116,  334,  413-415,  422,  454. 
Sloth,   247,  267,   293;    the  animal, 

400. 

Small,  James,  of  Truro,  303. 
Smith,  Capt.,  102. 
Snowstorm,  30,  33,  436,  437. 
Social  habit  of  Thoreau,  19,  57,  94, 

138,  176,  287,  426. 
Society,  190,  197,  276,  331,  367,  402  ; 

lecture  on,  4. 

Society  of  Natural  History,  226,  227. 
Solitude,  its  praises,  90,  98,  210,  278, 

374. 

Song  of  "  Tom  Bowlin,"  367. 
"  Song  of  the  Shirt  "  (Hood's),  267. 
Song-sparrow,  14. 
Sorrow,  doctrine  of,  47,  201. 
Soul  and  body,  198,  210,  216,  233, 

257,  264. 
"  Species,  Origin   of  "   (Darwin's), 

442. 
Spirit,  motions  of  the,  116,  336 ;  the 

Great,  14,  18,  213 ;  Bad,  of  the  In 
dians,  16. 

Spirit-rapping  ridiculed,  233. 
Spiritual  birth,  football,  261. 
Spring,  Marcus,  of  New  York,  220, 

333-338. 
Spring,  signs  of,  23,  31,  34,  84,  356, 

434. 

Spruce  house,  389,  429,  430. 
Standard,  the  Anti-Slavery,  53,  289. 
Staples,      Samuel,      constable    and 

sheriff,  58,  60,  168. 
State  and  Church,  61,  270. 
Staten  Island,  N.  Y.,  5,  58,  76,  79, 

84-86,  91,  98,  102,  113,  119,  139, 

143,  145. 
Station  and  appearance,  potency  of, 

274. 

Statistics,  371. 
Steamer  voyage  of  Thoreau,  80,  335, 

447-450. 

Sternothaerus  (turtle),  150,  156. 
Stock  in  the  bank,  194,  257,  372  ;  in 

this  world's  enterprises,  233. 
Stoicism  of  Thoreau,  ix,  55, 146, 158, 

205,  206,  287,  392. 
Storm  in  New  York,  125 ;  on  Monad- 

noc,  430. 
Stove  of  Thoreau,  264,  294 ;  of  Chan- 

ning,  297. 
Students,    their    economy,   69;    of 

Greek,  68,  116,121,  123;  of  law, 

19,  126. 


Study,  a  woodland,  68,  145, 153,  202. 

Style  in  writing,  ix,  78,  J12,  365. 

Suburban  life,  83,  93,  101,  114,  147. 

Success  in  life,  129,  191,  197,  209, 
214,  260,  292,  344,  373,  418. 

Sucker  (a  fish),  151, 156,  157,  266. 

Sugar,  327-329. 

Sugar-maple,  328. 

Summer,  Indian,  43,  395. 

Summer  life,  25,  74,  111. 

Sumner,  Charles  (H.  U.  1830),  220. 

Sumner,  Horace,  lost  at  sea,  221. 

Sun  (for  "  day  "),  14, 17  ;  in  a  mud- 
puddle,  292. 

Sunday  discourses,  229,  281,  340, 
348  ;  observance,  94, 118  ;  in  New 
Jersey,  338. 

Surveying  of  land,  119,  250,  265, 
282,  338, 340,  364,  388. 

Swamp  and  city  compared,  225. 

Swedenborg,  351. 

Swedenborgian,  H.  James,  145 ;  J. 
Clark,  175. 

Switzer,  a,  253. 

"TACTICS,"  of  Scott,  411. 
Tahatawan  (Indian  chief),  14-19. 
"  'T  ain't  I,  't  ain't  I,"  262. 
Talking,  63,  126,  211,  277,  302,  353. 
Tappan,  William,  of  New  York,  85, 

86,  94,  96,  97,  112,  115,  121,  135, 

140,  145. 

Tarbell,  Deacon,  of  Concord,  294. 
Tarkiln   Hill,   New    Bedford,    310, 

35(5. 

"  Task,"  of  Cowper,  306. 
Tauuton,  mentioned,  14,  18,  20,  21. 
Taxpaying,  58,  60. 
Taylor,  Jane,  quoted,  137. 
Tea,  its  value,  382,  383. 
Teaching,  by  the  Thoreaus,  4, 10, 25- 

30,  98. 
Teats,  269. 
Temple,    denned,   235;    too    close, 

230. 
Thanksgiving,  the  emotion,  344  ;  the 

festival,  333,  402. 
Thinking,  167,  195,  411. 
Thoreau,  Cynthia  (Dunbar),  mother 

of  Henry,  2,  11,  33,  79,  232,  271, 

285,  298,  301,  339,  407,  408,  419, 

420,  422,  423,  441, 464.    (See  under 

Letters. ) 
Thoreau,  Helen,  sister  of  Henry,  2, 

11,  23,  25,  32,  37,  56,  60,  86, 87,101, 

109,  113,  117,  119,  132,  140.     (See 

under  Letters.) 
Thoreau,  Henry  David  (H.  U.  1837), 

his  fame  increasing,  vi,  462  ;  his 

character,   viii,   xi  ;  industry  of, 


480 


INDEX. 


viii,  11,39,  161,  205,  338,  429  ;  his 
affection  %or  his   family,  viii,  38, 
80,  117,  141,  142 ;  for  his  brother 
John,  40,  47,   87 ;  for  the  Emer- 
sons,  58,  61,  111,    122,    162,  170, 
189  ;  French  elegance  of,  ix ;  jest 
ing  habit  of,  ix  ;  birth  and  death, 
2 ;  ancestry  and  early  days,  2-6 ; 
epochs   in  his  life,  4,  12,  40,  58, 
192  ;  affairs  of,  5,  25,  39,  44,  125, 
127,   128,   150-157,   161,   204-206, 
251,  410  ;  books  written  by,  5, 166, 
187,    280,   286,  299,  321  ;  college 
"Part,"   7-9;   philosophic   mind 
of,  10,  29  ;  Emerson's  view  of,  11  ; 
exaggeration    by,    11,    244,    265, 
270  ;  letters  from  (see  Letters)  ; 
Indian   dialect    of,  14-20 ;  tastes 
of,  19,  25,  38,  42,   51,  54.  57,   68, 
75,  93,  97,111,  135,  136,232;  his 
Indian   relics,   20-22 ;  wish  to  go 
West,  23;  habits,   25,  26,  39,  161, 
231,  382,  423,  424, 429  ;  school,  26, 
27  ;  advises  Helen,  27-35 ;  a  Tran 
scendental    brother,     37-39;    ac 
quaintance  with  Emerson,  39,  56  ; 
with  Mrs.  Brown,  40-49  (see  Let 
ters)  ;  with  R.  F.  Fuller,  52  (see 
Letters) ;  love  of  music,  47,  51,  52 ; 
writes  to  Emerson,  57   (see  Let 
ters)  ;  at  Emerson's  house,  40,  58  ; 
intimate    with     Hawthorne,    59 ; 
with  Alcott,  60,  75,  163, 175,  181, 
184,  287,  332,  340,  348,  357,  364  ; 
with  Emerson's  children,  63, 162, 
180,  183, 189  ;  with  Mrs.  Emerson, 
62  (see  Letters) ;  with  C.  S.  Whee 
ler,  68,  69  ;  edits  "  Dial,"  69-74  ; 
admirers  of,  76,  166, 190,  283,  287, 
349,  461  ;  his  college  life,  4,  7,  10, 
68,    78,    364;    college  professors 
and  tutors,  68,  130,  164,  174 ;  col 
lege  studies,  77-79  ;  goes  to  Staten 
Island,  79  ;  meets  Horace    Gree- 
ley,  Henry  James,  etc.,    80;    de 
scribes  New   York,  81-85,  93,   97, 
etc.  ;  verses  on  his  brother  John, 
87 ;    describes  James,    Channing, 
and  Brisbane,   95,  96  ;  and   other 
friends,   97  ;    at    W.    Emerson's, 
101 ;  his  pursuits,  100-109  ;    criti 
cises   Concord   and  the    "Dial," 
109-112  ;    describes    immigration 
in  1843, 114, 130, 131 ;  hears  Lucre- 
tia  Mott,    115;    laments   Stearns 
Wheeler,116  ;  regrets  Concord  and 
separation,  117,    118  ;   writes  for 
magazines,    119,    121,    127,    129; 
mentions      Channing,      Greeley, 
James,   Longfellow,    120;    trans 


lates  Greek,   121  ;    sees  publish 
ers,    125 ;  mentions  Webster  and 
C.    Dunbar,   126;   reads  Quarles, 
134;    criticises    Ellery   Channing 
and    Lane,    135  ;    Emerson    too, 
137;   likes  the    Irish,    138;    but 
not  W.  H.  Charming,  140  ;  hears 
from   Emerson,    143 ;   and  Ellery 
Channing,  144  ;  lives  by  Walden, 
145,  148 ;  hears  from   Lane,  146- 
149 ;  sends  fish  to  Agassiz,  149-157 ; 
returns  to  Emerson's  house,  158  ; 
writes  to  Sophia,   158  (see  Let 
ters)  ;  cares  for  the  Emerson  fam 
ily,   161;    helps  Alcott  with  the 
summer-house  of  Emerson,  163  ; 
describes  Scientific    School,  165; 
refuses  marriage,    166  ;  finds  no 
publisher,  166, 187  ;  his  account  of 
Hugh  Whelan,  167,  171,  172,  178  ; 
hears    from    Emerson,    170    (see 
Letters) ;  hears  Parker,  Whipple, 
and  Hudson  at  Lyceum,  178,  1 1 9  ; 
describes  a    dinner,    176 ;    sends 
verses,  177  ;  describes  the  Emer 
son  household,  182,  183 ;   and  E. 
Channing,  174  ;  reads  lectures,  4, 
64, 185 ;   writes  to  J.  E.  Cabot,  186 
(see  Letters) ;  his   mode  of  writ 
ing,   188 ;  meets  H.  G.  O.  Blake, 
190;  their  correspondence,  191- 
445    (see    Letters);    believes    in 
simplicity,    194 ;  defines  his  life, 
196,  202,  210,  215,   224;  lectures 
on  bread,  197-199  ;  on  duties,  201 ; 
corresponds  with   Greeley,    203 ; 
fathoming   character,    203  ;  lives 
by    hand-labor,    205;    writes  for 
"  Graham"  and  "Putnam,"  203, 
207 ;  his  debts,   219,   note,   266  ; 
visits  Fire  Island,  220  ;   elected  to 
Boston    Society  of   Natural  His 
tory,  226 ;  lectures  in  Boston,  228  ; 
in  Plymouth,  Salem,  etc.,  228-230; 
satirizes   spiritism,   233 ;  will  be 
a  scarecrow,    234 ;    his  temples, 
235  ;  essay  on  Chastity,  238-251 ; 
goes  land-surveying,  251 ;  avoids 
doing  good,  254 ;  reflects  on  life, 
255-259  ;  differs  with  G.  W.  Curtis, 
260  ;  moralizes,   261-269  ;  feeble 
ness  of,  262,  323  ;  reads   Haydon 
and  Layard,  269  ;  gets  a  new  coat, 
271 ;  lessons  therefrom,  272-275  ; 
finds  fault  with  men,  276  ;   pad 
dles  up  river  by  night,  278  ;  lec 
tures    in    Worcester,    280,     355, 
406,   413 ;    publishes   "  Walden," 
280;     meets     Ricketson    and    T. 
Cholmondeley,  283;  geniality  of, 


INDEX. 


481 


287, 325, 353  ;  visits  Nantucket  and 
New  Bedford,  289  ;  moralizes 
to  Blake,  291-294  :  writes  to 
Cholmondeley,  295; 'to  Sanborn, 
300,  445 ;  visits  Cape  Cod,  302-305 ; 
describes  Ricketson,  300 ;  deals 
with  E.  Hosmer  for  an  old  house, 
309  ;  praises  G-ilpin,  311 ;  finds  the 
rose-gentian,  313  ;  gathers  drift 
wood,  316-318;  meets  Mary  Emer 
son,  318 ;  receives  books  from 
Cholmondeley,  319,  321 ;  describes 
Ellery  C  banning,  324;  is  the 
greatest  walker  in  Concord,  326  ; 
idealizes  sugar-making,  328  ;  visits 
Alcott  in  New  Hampshire,  332, 
333;  and  the  Eagleswood  com 
munity,  335 ;  describes  it,  336- 
338 ;  meets  Walt  Whitman,  340 ; 
visits  Greeley,  340 ;  his  morning 
in  Worcester,  342;  describes 
Whitman,  345-347 ;  hears  H.  W. 
Beecher,  348  ;  quotes  Confucius 
to  Wiley,  350  (see  Letters) ; 
lands  on  Clark's  Island,  353; 
meets  Alcott  and  ChanninginNew 
Bedford,  357  ;  goes  to  Cape  Cod 
with  Chauning,  359 ;  analyzes 
glow-worms  for  M.  Watson,  360 
(see  Letters) ;  praises  Hillside, 
363, 364 ;  criticises  W.  Flagg,  365  ; 
in  Maine  woods,  366,  369,  378-382 
(see  Letter  to  Higginson)  ;  his 
camp  outfit,  383 ;  habit  in  tour 
ing,  384;  visits  White  Mountains 
(in  1858),  385-391 ;  goes  to  Monad- 
noc,  388,  428  ;  finds  the  arnica  in 
Tuckerman's  Ravine,  390 ;  his 
camp  on  Mt.  Washington,  391 ; 
writes  on  autumn  tints,  395  ;  is 
visited  by  Cholmondeley  in  1858- 
59,  397;  ridicules  Boston  clubs, 
400  ;  criticises  H.  James,  402 ; 
his  parable  of  the  mountain  ra 
vine,  404, 405  ;  his  father  dies,  406 ; 
and  is  described  by  Thoreau,  407, 
408  ;  returns  to  hand-labor,  410 ; 
praises  John  Brown,  413 ;  his 
speech  published,  with  Emerson's, 
by  Redpath,  415;  reflections  on 
man  and  fate,  416-418  ;  invited  to 
John  Brown's  grave,  420  ;  goes 
with  Channing  to  Monadnoc,  421 ; 
speeds  Frank  Merriam  to  Canada, 
423,  424;  explains  his  silence  to 
Ricketson,  426;  gets  a  Canada 
lynx,  427  ;  describes  life  on  Mo 
nadnoc,  482-433  ;  hints  for  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  433 ;  is  visited 
by  Blake  and  Brown,  435  ;  men 


tions  Alcott's  success,  436  ;  writes 
to  P.  Pillbsury,  437  ;  falls  ill 
and  goes  to  Minnesota,  439-444, 
446-453  ;  his  last  letter  from 
Cholmondeley,  439 ;  describes  his 
illness  455 ;  sits  for  his  portrait 
in  New  Bedford,  456;  writes  for 
the  "Atlantic  Monthly,"  458; 
grows  worse,  459  ;  writes  his  last 
letter,  463  ;  dies,  464. 

Thoreau,  Jane,  mentioned,  142. 

Thoreau,  John  (father  of  Henry), 
2-6,  11,  23,  80,  86,  118,  133,  339, 
397,  406 ;  day-book  of,  4 ;  de 
scribed  by  Thoreau,  407  ;  dies,  406, 
408. 

Thoreau,  John  (grandfather  of  Hen 
ry),  3,  378. 

Thoreau,  John  (brother  of  Henry), 
2,  6,  13,  14,  18-25,  27,  37,  40  ;  his 
death,  47,  87,  88  ;  his  bluebird  box, 
23-25.  (See  Letters.) 

Thoreau,  Maria,  141,  464. 

Thoreau,  Philip  (great-grandfather 
of  Henry),  3. 

Thoreau,  Sophia  (sister  of  Henry) 
(see  Letters) ;  8,  26,  27,  32,  36,  39, 
84,  133,  142, 158,  232,  334,  335, 419, 
459,461,464;  dies,  464. 

"Thule,  Ultima"  (Cholmondeley's 
book  on  New  Zealand),  284,  303. 

Thunder  in  the  woods,  70. 

"  Times,"  345. 

Tints,  Autumnal,  395,  402. 

Tortoise,  painted,  153. 

"Transcript,"  of  Worcester,  342. 

"Traveller,"  of  Boston,  361. 

"Tribune,"  of  New  York,  53, 80, 143, 
204,  331. 

Truro,  Mass.,  302,  304,  412. 

Trust,  65. 

"  Truth  along  with  ye,"  290. 

Tuckerman's  Ravine,  389,  404,  406. 

Tulip  trees,  84,  91,  106. 

Turkey,  the  country,  176,  211 ;  the 
fowl,  176. 

Tyndale,  Mrs.,  349. 

'  ULTIMA  THTJLK,"  284,  303. 
Umbagog  Lake,  377. 
Umbazookskus,  381. 
Union,  war  for  the,  439.  446, 454, 460. 
"  Union  Magazine,"  204. 
Universalist  church,  61. 

VACANT  hours,  31,  252,  262,  301. 
Vaches,  Ranz  des,  59. 
Valhalla's  kitchen,  51. 
Valley  of  the  Connecticut,  332  ;   of 
the  Mississippi,  446. 


482 


INDEX. 


Vandalic  verses,  45. 

Vedas,  351. 

Venus,  31. 

Verses    mentioned,    Sic    Vita,   40; 

Memorial,  76  ;  quoted,  87,  176. 
Vestry  of  the  church,  354,  377,  414. 
Views,  distant :  from  Monadnoc,  384  ; 

from  Mt.  Washington,  376. 
"  Vides  ut  alia  stet  nive  candidum," 

30. 

Virgil,  vii ;  quoted,  32. 
Virginia,  road,  2,  5  ;  State,  398,  406, 

414,  462. 
Virginity,  249. 
Vishnu  Purana,  351. 
Von  Hammer,  71. 
Vose,  Henry  (H.  U.  1837),  19. 
Voting  in  Concord,  16,  19,  168. 
Vowel  sounds,  28. 
Voyages,  80,  295,  335,  447. 
Vulcan,  31,  34,  45. 

WACHUSETT,  a  mountain,  99,  282, 
285,  330,  376,  384,  433. 

Wagon-journey  to  White  Mountains, 
385,  389. 

Walden,  the  pond,  5,  31,  34,  68, 124, 
145,  149,  158,  161-169  ;  the  book, 
280,  281,  286,  321,  324,  437,  463, 
464. 

Walden  woods,  138,  159,  168,  190, 
392. 

Waldo,  Giles,  of  New  York,  85,  94, 
96,  99,  115, 125. 

Walks  of  Thoreau,  to  Wachusett, 
99. 

Walker,  Tom,  265;  member  of  a 
sect,  392. 

"  Walking  "  (a  lecture),  354,  458. 

Walpole,  N.  H.,  332. 

Walt  (for  Walter),  Christian  name 
of  the  poet  Whitman,  345,  348, 
349. 

"  Wanderer,  The "  (Channing's 
poem),  364,  421  ;  quoted,  422. 

War,  108;  stupidity  of,  441;  Cri 
mean,  826,  294,  298,  320,  321 ;  Rev 
olutionary,  378,  414  ;  of  1861,  446. 

Ward,  George,  85,  100. 

Ward,  Mrs.,  60,  87. 

Warm  yourself,  how  to,  247,  264, 
294,  318. 

Washington,  General,  11. 

Washington,  the  city,  436  ;  the  moun 
tain,  375,  389,  433. 

Wasson,  D.  A.,  357,  358. 

Watson,  Edward,  353,  363. 

Watson,  B.  M.,  229,  230,  282,  287, 
360,  362-364,  388. 

Watson,  Mrs.  Mary,  49,  364. 


Wealth,  folly  of  accumulating,  194, 
373. 

Wearing  clothes,  272,  274,  290,  310, 
419. 

Webster,  Daniel,  mentioned,  124, 
126,  285. 

"  Week  on  the  Concord  and  Merri- 
mack "  (first  book  of  Thoreau), 
166;  refused  by  publishers,  187, 
207 ;  debt  for,  219,  251  ;  cited, 
321;  mentioned,  392,  437,  462, 
463. 

Weld,  Theodore  (of  Eagleswood), 
334,  336. 

Weld,  Mrs.  (Grimk6),  333,  335. 

West,  the,  Thoreau  would  go  to,  22  ; 
a  friend  in,  41  ;  immigrants  to 
114,  131  ;  Thoreau's  tour  in,  439, 
444,  446-454. 

West  Indies,  mentioned,  397,  444. 

Weston,  Mass.,  11,  124. 

Wheeler,  Charles  Stearns  (H.  U. 
1837),  68,  69,  71,  108,  116,  123. 

Whelau,  Hugh,  the  gardener,  91, 
167,  171,  172,  178,  185. 

Whipple,  Edwin  Percy,  173,  174. 

White,  Miss  E.,  32,  36. 

White  Pond  (at  Nine- Acre-Corner), 
15. 

Whitman,  Walt,  321  ;  seen  by  Tho 
reau,  339-341;  genius  of,  346; 
brag  of,  347  ;  seen  by  Alcott,  349 ; 
described,  345-347  ;  mentioned  by 
Emerson,  339 ;  and  by  Alcott,  439. 

Whittier,  John  Greenieaf,  men 
tioned,  59. 

Wild,  the  (a  lecture),  354;  Tho 
reau's  love  of,  17,  42,  144,  210. 

Wiley,  B.  B.,  349-354.  (See  Let 
ters.) 

Williams,  I.  T.,  45. 

Windsor,  N.  S.,  393. 

"  Winter's  Walk,"  112. 

Winthrop,  John  (Governor  of  Mas 
sachusetts),  his  Concord  house, 
309. 

Wisconsin,  131,  448. 

Wisdom  of  the  ancients,  136,  350, 
351 ;  of  the  Indian,  362,  370. 

Woman,  her  quarrel  with  man,  238  ; 
her  beauty,  239 ;  a  merely  senti 
mental,  241. 

Woodchuck,  mentioned,  202,  433. 

Worcester,  Mass,  (home  of  Blake 
and  Brown),  189,  192  (see  Let 
ters);  Thoreau  lectures  at,  218, 
231,  280,  etc. ;  visits,  335,  341, 358. 

Wordsworth,  quoted,  275. 

"  World,  the,  a  cow  that  is  hard  to 
milk,"  161 ;  must  look  out,  175; 


INDEX. 


483 


noble  to  stand  aside  from,  191 ; 
idly  complaining,  236 ;  its  way, 
252  ;  and  Atlas,  292  ;  no  match  for 
a  thought,  412  ;  pitch  it  in  a  hol 
low  place,  sit  down  and  eat  your 
luncheon,  418  ;  one  at  a  time,  439. 

Worms  (Lampyris  noctiluca),  360, 
363. 

Writing,  correct,  112,  187,  365; 
remarks  on,  ix,  29,  32,  44,  78,  112, 
188,  365,  426. 


Wyman  trial,  the,  124. 

"YANKEE  in  Canada,"  207,  259. 

Yarmouth,  Mass.,  304. 

Yellow  House,  5. 

Yellow  Medicine  (river),  452. 

Yoga  (Hindoo  observance),  210. 

Yogi,  211. 

"Youth  of  the  Poet  and  Painter" 

(by  Ellery  Channing),"  111,  135, 

139. 


U.C.BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


